


Preludes and Recollections

by nolandsman



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Origin Story, Sisterhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 73,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nolandsman/pseuds/nolandsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, and with no memory of the event, a precocious girl finds herself and her baby brother orphaned and alone in a strange country. Armed with nothing but her wits and a knack for sorcery, she must learn to survive in a callous adult world replete with the hardships of poverty, opportunism and prejudice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone

The greenly lit shuddering of trees, the rustling of the wind through branches—they were the first things the little girl noticed. The rest of her awareness; the pain in her own body, the cold seeping into her skin, the steady thump of her own heart beating, those came later. For a beautiful, painless moment, it was just her and the trees, the strange smells of the forest, so different from the smells she had grown up recognizing. It was all so mesmerizing, overwhelming, oddly comforting, and in her mind she tried to let the foreign air swallow her, replacing her consciousness with the silence of nature.

But the baby wouldn't let her. He wailed and squirmed, tearing her attention from the listless otherworldly breezes and back into the present. Slowly, painfully, he brought her back down to earth, and she realized that the baby wasn't the only one who was agitated. Her muscles ached, her stomach rumbled, and she had no idea where she was. But she had very little time to come to terms with the fact that she was hungry, tired, utterly lost, and completely alone.

Except, of course, for the baby. The useless, tiny burden she'd found herself saddled with, the noise-making, fidgeting, red-faced little thing, who could do nothing but screech and wail and stink and eat and vomit. If their mother had decided to just leave her alone out here, she might as well have left her with something useful, something helpful, like a map or extra clothing.

She cut her thoughts short. She hung her head, telling herself that their mother hadn't left them, she'd simply _lost_ them. She was probably out looking for them right now, calling their names and worried sick.

The girl gathered herself and made a plan. She made a list of priorities in her head. The first order of business was to keep her brother from crying. Then she'd have the time to find out where she was. And why the air was so thin, the trees so foreign to her. After that, she would find her mother.

She sat herself down in the shadow of a whispering tree and held the baby close to her, one hand fumbling through the pack for the bottle of milk her mother had left there. It was their last one—which she took as a sign that their mother had not intended for them to be alone for very long. But then she realized that it was their only bottle, and scolded herself for letting her thoughts stray to delusions of hope.

"Don't kid yourself, Raine," she told herself quietly, holding the bottle to the baby's greedy lips. "She's not coming back. Not coming…" She fell silent, thinking. Well, of course she only left them with one bottle, it had been an accident, they were only separated for a short time—

No, she had meant for them to be on their own, that's why she had given them so many supplies before their parting. Raine sighed, her head throbbing. She tried to remember how she had gotten here, gotten separated from her mother. She didn't recall much—she had been sleepy, unaware—it was like the patterns of her memories had been disrupted at that moment. But she remembered tall rocks, like a crag, or the columns of a huge building… it had been night.

That was all she could recall. Anything else was hidden behind a hazy wall that even the most intense concentration couldn't dispel. And the baby's racket didn't help either. Even with his mouth covered, dripping milk and still sucking in more, he managed to periodically squeeze out a few pathetic cries. Raine took the bottle away, figuring that she should probably ration out the remainder of the milk, since they seemed to be alone in the middle of nowhere with no sign of civilization, or food, anywhere around them.

_And then what?_ Raine thought to herself. _What do we do when the bottle runs dry?_ Raine remembered how her mother used to feed the baby, propped up peacefully under her shirt while she cooed at him, smiling. At first Raine had thought the practice was weird and even a little frightening, but her mother assured her that that was how babies were fed, and that when Raine was a baby she too sat squished up against her mother's breast for nourishment. When Raine inquired further about the care and creation of babies, her mother just laughed and told her to ask her father, since he was the biologist in the family. When she asked him, she got a short and unsatisfactorily vague answer about mammalian fetal development and something to do with Xs and Ys being chopped in half.

She wondered if by some miracle she might be able to feed the baby on her own. She didn't exactly have the storage capacity for much milk—well, she was only eleven, but maybe her body would adjust to the changing conditions. She knew that around her age her breasts would start to grow, but she wondered if she had the mind-body connectedness to urge it on a little. At least get some good out of puberty before the bottle went dry and her little brother starved to death.

She packed the milk back into her bag and swaddled the baby, who whimpered, red-faced. She tucked him into the folds of her jacket, where his cries were muffled slightly, and she looked around her. The trees seemed endless, and it didn't look like any direction was preferable over any other. So she chose her own path and followed it, taking her first steps into the vast wilderness.

The first night out in the wild alone was bad, the second night was worse. By the third day, Raine knew she had to find people fast, or they would both die. Her supply of food ran low more quickly than she had expected, and the milk bottle was nearly empty. She watered it down so that the baby would at least have a full stomach by the end of his feeding time, but she could tell he was malnourished. She didn't know it was possible for a baby to lose that much weight so fast, but it seemed his rounded plumpness dissipated by the hour. She, too, was noticeably weaker than before. She didn't have enough food to keep this up. They had until tomorrow, at most, and then they would be out. And that was the end of them, unless Raine could manage to find food, and some substitute for milk, out in this wilderness. Perhaps she could find some animal, milk it, eat its meat… her stomach grumbled.

She lowered herself against a tree, cradling the baby. He had cried himself to sleep some time ago, and now weakly twitched in her arms, too exhausted to wake up and wail. She leaned back against the creaking trunk, examining the yellowing leaves of the trees around her. It looked like winter was coming early this year. Very early.

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Obviously either there was some sort of meteorological anomaly in this particular neck of the woods, or else Raine had gotten herself lost in a place far, far away from her family. Raine knew from the books her parents had given her that the seasons were dependent on what part of the world you happened to be in—what if she got herself lost somewhere so far away that the seasons were entirely different?

She shook her head. It was impossible that she had traveled that far in so short a time. It was only four days ago that she had been with her mother, holding her hand, looking up at her pale face… and now she was already three days lost in this strange autumn wood. Luckily for her and the baby the weather had been mild, devoid of rain, but every night she was so cold she worried that she would wake up to find her brother frozen to death in her arms.

That particular night it grew even chillier, so she decided to build a bigger fire than usual. She stopped her perseverant trod and gathered enough firewood to last the night. Her parents had always been reluctant to start fires in the wilderness—they said that it was always possible that the University was following them and would find out where they were camped.

Her parents talked about the University a lot. Sometimes they would wistfully chat about the days of their youth, both embroiled in the institute's laboratory research, buried knee deep in data. Mother said she had met Father at the University, when she was doing her thesis on the principles of aeronautics. Father had been working in a botany lab, and she liked to laugh that when he first saw her, he was so enamored with her he dropped the entirety of the control group on the floor, setting the whole lab back at least a month.

Apart from how they found each other, they didn't have many good things to say about the University. They seemed to avoid the topic when their daughter was around, mentioning it only in emergencies, when they had to skip town or hide themselves. All Raine knew was that the University was a huge building made of grey brick, and that it was what forced her family to move around so much.

She didn't mind. About the time that she realized she wasn't learning anything in school was when the University disrupted her family's monotonous daily life. So while they were on the run, her mother and father taught her all they had learned—they bought her books and diagrams and made sure she memorized them sufficiently, since they often had to drop their cargo at a moment's notice to make a hasty retreat into the wilderness. She lived with it; of course, she would love to have a collection of books, but the urgency of her situation helped her learn faster. She never knew how much time she would be able to spend with a book, so she became quite good at devouring knowledge as fast as possible. Since she could read at her own quick pace and retain the information without repetition, she never needed to worry about getting too far ahead, as she always did in school. She could go as fast as she wanted, so long as her parents knew she had truly learned the material.

There was nothing Raine loved more than reading. There was nothing she was better at. Whenever she was worried, lonely, unsure, she could always escape between the pages of a book. It didn't matter what type—a textbook on geometry, or an ancient epic poem, they all enthralled her equally. So it wasn't a surprise that the first night after they had arrived in this strange new place, she had tucked her little brother into the folds of her big coat and searched the pack for something to read. To her horror, there was nothing—nothing but food and clothes and a few necessary toiletries, a tiny knife barely suitable for cutting bread, and a large flagon of water. Goods only useful for survival, but not living. She needed to find some people, find some books…

She knew that maybe she could forget about her hunger if she could immerse herself in the narrative of some ancient war, or into the complexities of equations and diagrams, but she was alone out here, with no pages, no words, only the sounds of the forest and the feeble whimpering of her tiny little brother. But within the first few hours of their lonely journey, the hope of finding books receded into the background, replaced with a desperate need for food and warmth.

The night only grew colder and Raine scooted close to the fire, hugging her ratty blanket around herself and the gurgling baby. She couldn't tell if he was satiated by the watered-down meal she had given him, or if he was just too weak to launch a full-fledged wail. Either way, he was quiet, if only for a tender, short time. She held him close and looked him over, his tiny nose, his uncomprehending eyes, and couldn't help but marvel at the fact that every intelligent soul, every person, great and horrid, human or elf or in between, started off as a helpless, stubby-limbed little baby.

_I wonder what turns this stupid thing into a person,_ she thought, rocking him steadily. _Is it reason? Communication?_ As if sensing her thoughts turn to him, he raised his little eyes up at her, grey-blue like hers and their mother's, and met her gaze. She stared into his empty eyes, so full of potential. _It must be memory,_ she thought. _He has nothing to remember, so he has nothing to think about._ She supposed that's how it worked… memory was the basis of learning, the basis of thought and consciousness—so little Genis had no scaffolding on which to build his mind.

Raine had a few early childhood memories, but they were disjointed and without context. She remembered her father picking her up and putting her on his shoulders, her mother singing softly to her, and she remembered her parents fighting, screaming at one another from opposite sides of a dark room, then scolding each other for being loud enough to be discovered… All these bits of consciousness were few and far between, blurred by the dreamy vertigo of toddlerhood. She didn't have a memory that she could call her first. Raine wondered if her transition from unconscious baby to conscious child was gradual, or if there was a moment in her early life when her mind just clicked, and she suddenly found herself capable of remembering the events of the day. Perhaps there was a moment when each of the nascent puzzle pieces of her brain had finally come together and she became a thinking, feeling, albeit somewhat disconnected person.

She looked deep into her little brother's milky eyes, wondering if she would be able to watch him turn into an autonomous soul, rather than a speechless, thoughtless, helpless little thing that depended on others for sustenance. She wondered if she would be able to discern the moment when he gained a mind, or even if there was a moment at all. Maybe it would all be too gradual for her to notice. Even so, she would get to watch it, and take notes. But first, they had to live through the night.

She put her finger on the baby's nose and smiled. "I thought about leaving you, you know. My chances of survival are much better without you around. But… I promise I'll keep you alive. You're my little experiment."

The baby responded to her affection by promptly urinating on her pants. Raine briefly regretted her promise to her little brother, but by this time she was quite used to the baby's habits. She removed the baby from her lap, unwrapped him and laid him by the fire, where he cried and wiggled miserably. She sighed, hoping that she would come across some sign of people soon. She wasn't sure what would kill her first: the hunger, the cold, or the horrid stink of the her younger brother.

The next morning, she ate the last of their food, and fed the crying baby the last of their milk. _It's all or nothing now_ , she told herself. _Today is the day we either starve or learn to survive._ She held weak little infant close to her, and started off in her arbitrarily decided direction, which she guessed was southwest. She couldn't see the moon or stars from under the thick canopy of branches, so she had very little to navigate by.

To distract herself from the grumbling in her stomach, the whimpering of her little brother, the cold seeping into her bones, Raine buried herself in thought. She talked to herself, she talked to the baby, softly, slowly, trying to calm him down.

"You know, Genis," she said, stepping over a large rock, foot crunching the fallen leaves, "if we die out here, in the middle of nowhere, no one will know for a long time. Days, weeks, months. Maybe they will never know. The only people who will care would be our parents, and they're the ones that left us out here in the first place." She heard the sound of running water whispering in the distance, and followed it, hoping to come across a cool, fresh drink. "And eventually," she continued, making her way toward the noise, "they'll forget about us too. Maybe they'll have more children. Maybe they won't. Maybe they're dead. Maybe the University got them."

The susurrations of the water grew louder, and Raine licked her lips, trotting a little faster. Maybe the University did get her parents, and she and her brother were lucky enough to have escaped. Raine never knew what the University wanted, and she definitely didn't know if they wanted it enough to kill for it. A brief, terrifying image of her parents' corpses flashed through her mind, and she banished the thought. Her mother and father had been running from the University for years, they could take care of themselves. It was Genis and herself that she should be worried about. She tried to assess how long they could survive alone, or how on earth they would find a way back to their parents, but she couldn't see that far into the future. She sighed and forced herself to think about the here and now, about the sound of water flowing, about quenching her thirst.

When she got to the shallow, clear brook, she was so eager to drink that she didn't take enough care walking down to the water. At the edge of the stream, her foot slid across the mossy stones and slipped out from under her. She tumbled downward, lifting the baby, turning herself over to keep him from crashing onto the rocks or into the cold water. She held Genis in the air while she fell, so preoccupied trying to save the baby she landed flat on her back in the freezing water. She lay still for a moment, shivering, holding the baby high above her as if in offering to the gods, and she let the cold water rush across her back, soaking the bag and everything in it. _Well, there go our dry clothes_ , she thought miserably. As if they already didn't have it rough enough.

Raine sat up slowly, and set the baby on the shore of the tiny stream. He began to cry over all the commotion, but Raine didn't bother shushing him. She sat there, dripping freezing water, and shivered for a while, letting the cold shock course through her. Her legs shook, her breath left her, and before she knew it, she was crying. The tears felt uncomfortably hot on her face, running along her gooseflesh. She looked at the bundle on the shore, wiggling and whining, and the tears came pouring out of her. She hugged herself, sobbing, and stood, bending back down toward the river to gather water in her flagon and pick up any items she'd dropped on her way down into the flowing stream.

_We're going to die,_ she told herself miserably. _We're going to die, and no one is going to remember us._

She shivered, wishing that she could be anywhere but here, wishing that she didn't have to be alone, wishing that she had a plan, that she could remember what happened at all, that she was back with her family, that she could just leave all this, let the water wash her away into nothing. But here she was, freezing, starving, lonely, and there wasn't much she could do about it. All she could do was try to gather their things and see if they could survive another night. She reached back into the stinging cold water for an object shining under the water, thinking that it had fallen from her bag.

When the pulled her hand up, what she held was not something that had come from the pack. It was something she had never seen before. Black, sharp, beautiful, it glinted in the afternoon light creeping through leaves. It looked like a piece of some ancient weapon, perhaps an arrowhead or the broken tip of a spear. It captivated her, this tiny shard of humanity, out here in the middle of the forest. She closed her hand around it and brought it close to her chest.

She closed her eyes for a moment, pulling herself together. A light breeze tickled her wet skin and chilled her to her core. She shook slightly, but the tiny fragment in her hand felt warm, reassuring, encouraging. Someone had been here before, maybe recently, perhaps hundreds of years ago, but for the first time in days, she and her brother were not alone. There was some evidence of civilization here… small but consequential. The person who had used this fragment of metal had left a little piece of him or herself here, a tiny memory, something to hold onto.

She turned back to the baby, who now cried whole-heartedly, stomach empty. Raine picked him up, shivering through and through, and decided to follow the river. It had already given her a small piece of civilization, so perhaps it would lead her to a town. She just hoped it didn't get any wider or deeper. She didn't particularly like deep water.

She was starving, wet, freezing, and saddled with a crying baby, but she forced herself to walk forward, stepping over rocks and roots and bushes, leaving a trail of cold drops in her wake. She resumed her talking, shivering, trying to keep warm, hoping that the water dripping from her wouldn't freeze the baby. After a few hours, when the last warmth of the sun disappeared over the horizon, Raine tried to force herself to resign to their fates. She tried to tell herself that they would freeze out here, that they would starve, alone, and that their corpses would be devoured by beasts in the night. But she couldn't bring herself to admit it, not after she had found that tiny metallic shard of hope. She had promised her little brother that he would survive, and he would. Besides, she could not accept the unfairness that he would have to die before he could really live, could really experience memory and language and consciousness.

It was too early for them to die. It was simple. Raine would not allow it. So she walked onward through the maze of tree trunks and shadows, refusing to look back, until the trees thinned and she spied a road in the distance. She desperately scrambled toward it, doubting if it was even real, suspecting this was a trick of the forest or of her tired mind.

The road turned out to be real, but when she placed her tired feet on the packed gravel, she felt very little relief. She was still freezing, still alone. The moon rose slowly, and for the first time in days she got a clear view of it.

It was not her moon. Its grooves and shapes and shadows were unfamiliar to her. It rose like a giant, scrutinizing eye, like an angry god watching her closely. Her knees went weak and she fell to the dirt. Genis began to wail.

"This is a dream," Raine said quietly. "A long, awful dream."

Raine closed her eyes and wished desperately that her mother would shake her awake, that she would wake up in someplace warm, a place she could call home. But she didn't wake up. She only stared at the foreign moon rising slowly in the sky, and started to cry all over again.


	2. The City

Raine shook with fear and cold. She tried not to look at the strange moon in the sky, but she couldn't stop her eyes from shooting upward every once in a while, when she dared take them off her brother. She told herself to ignore the celestial reminder that she was hopelessly disoriented, and just focus on keeping Genis alive. She cradled him close, gently shaking him. "Please," she whispered. "Please make a sound. Please."

For the past few hours, she had sat on the side of the road, trying to keep warm, trying not to look at the unfamiliar sky. The baby's heart beat weakly, but he didn't move, he didn't make a sound. She was unsure if he would be able to survive the night.

"Look, it's warm in here," she whispered, wrapping him tighter in her jacket. He coughed, bubbles of drool popping from his mouth. It wasn't an encouraging gesture on his part, but at least it was a sign that he was alive. "Come on," she urged him. "Take another breath… just one more."

She wondered if she could build a fire by this tiny road, if Genis would be able to survive if she left him alone for an hour while she gathered enough fuel, or if she would be able to carry him and firewood at the same time without dropping one or the other. She eventually decided to forgo the fire. She reasoned that if he was going to die, she was going to be there for him when he did.

She shook her head, trying to jostle some sense back into herself. No way she was going to let him die. Not after she had already lost the rest of her family. He was all she had left, and even if she found her parents again, they would never forgive her if she came back without her little brother. She was going to keep him alive, and keep him close. Knowing it may be useless, she lifted her shirt and stuck his head under it. She could feel his thin hair and cold face on her chest, and winced at the chilly air that swept against her momentarily exposed skin.

But her gesture worked, for a little while. Presented with the familiarity of a nipple, he perked up, probably hoping for some food. Raine knew she couldn't give any to him, but was at least a little relieved to feel him wiggle his tiny body against her and try to feed himself.

"Ow, watch it," she whispered when she felt his teeth pinch her. She knew her body wasn't made for this, but if it would motivate her baby brother to stay alive until morning, she would sit here and endure his hungry bites and weak clawing. Somehow, she would find food for him, and she would find warmth. She would find her way home, and she would take him with her. Together they would…

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, Raine found herself crying. She shook and sobbed, wavering between defeat and hope, between despair and resolution. She didn't know what to think, what to expect—she honestly couldn't judge whether or not they would live through the night, or how long they would last after that if they did. This wasn't like her beloved textbooks, where there was an answer, and if she could not come up with one alone, she could ask for help from her mother or father. There was always an answer, always...

But not this time. Raine had so many questions, but no solutions. There were too many variables, too many unknowns… and the worst part was that their lives hinged on her answering these questions correctly. There was no way to reason her way through this situation, no givens, no algorithms, no hints, no help… She hung her head and silently cried as the strange moon crawled above her.

A small yellow light flickered in the east, drawing her teary eye, but it was not the sun, and it wasn't a star or planet. It twinkled dimly, close to the ground, and slowly grew brighter and brighter. As it approached, Raine could hear the rickety sound of wheels crunching the dirt road. She froze, wondering if she should sink back into the shadowy woods, or if she should take her chances by confronting the strange light. Perhaps it was the University, perhaps it was a friend, perhaps it was an entity indifferent to her suffering.

She quickly weighed her options. She could reveal herself to these strangers, and risk being captured or killed. Or she could go back into the woods and die for sure. So she sat next to the road, cradling the baby under her shirt, waiting for the luminous vehicle to creak into full view.

To her great surprise, it was a ratty horse-drawn cart straight from the pages of her history textbooks. She stood in awe, forgetting to take the baby out of her jacket, as she watched it approach, creaking and and ancient-looking. The wagon slowed to a halt and a tall figure jumped from the front, barely lit in the dim glow of the wagon's lantern.

Raine heard a man's voice call out to her. "Dammit, girl, what are you doing out alone on a night like this?"

Raine stared at him, trying to make him out. She could see he had a beard, but she couldn't see his features. His manner of speech was strange, heavily accented, but she could understand him. She may have gotten herself lost in a faraway land, but at least she didn't have too large of a language barrier to overcome.

The man bent down toward her and reached out a hand. Raine backed away. "Where are your parents? Are you alone? You're shivering."

Raine gulped. "My parents... we were separated. I don't even know where I am."

"Gods above, you look like you've gone through a mess. Here, get inside. There are some blankets, and I'll have my daughter dig up some food for you. You must be headed to Palmacosta."

"W… where?" she asked. She had never heard of that place before. She thought for a moment, her quick mind sorting through her possible actions, her chances of survival. "Yes. That's where I'm headed. That's where my parents are." She didn't have anywhere else to go, so if she could convince this man to give her a ride back to civilization, it would at least be safer than staying out here alone. Maybe she could ask around about her parents when she found more people. "How far is Palmacosta?" she asked.

But the man didn't hear her; he was already hauling himself back up into the front seat of the wagon. He motioned to her to get inside, so she rounded the back and crawled up into the dim glow of the canopied light.

It was surprisingly warm under the wagon's bonnet. The dull lamp lit up the yellowed tarp as it swung from one of the creaking bows. Raine spied a small girl bundled in the corner of the wagon's boxy interior, wrapped in a wool blanket and snoring slightly.

"Choco, darling, wake up," the man said softly, lifting his arm over the wooden driver's seat and stroking her hair. "We have a visitor."

Genis began to stir under Raine's jacket, aroused by the commotion and the sudden warmth. He gurgled and spat, and Raine slowly lifted him from the folds of her clothing. The man peeking through the front of the wagon frowned, taken aback. "That's not your baby, is it? My gods, they have them working younger and younger..."

Raine interrupted him. "He's my brother."

The man revealed a soft smile while what Raine assumed was his daughter stirred, yawning. "It's too early," she mumbled. She drew her blanket tighter around her and turned over.

"Darling," the man continued. "It's not polite to ignore people, especially people in need." The girl groaned and sat up, giving Raine a clear view of her messy brown hair and dark eyes ringed with fatigue. She yawned noisily, rubbing her forehead.

"Are we there yet?" she asked.

"We're close. We'll be there in the morning."

Raine gathered that he meant Palmacosta. She wondered what kind of place it was—she assumed it was a tiny village out in the boondocks, given that its residents were apparently prone to driving vehicles that were only common centuries ago. She wondered if in this part of the world such regressive practices were the norm. She didn't have time to dwell on that question for long, however, because soon after waking, Genis let out a skin-prickling wail. She shushed him, bouncing him up and down gently like she had seen her mother do when he was upset.

"He must be hungry," the man up front said. "Sweet one, will you dig around and see if you can find them something? How about that formula your grandmother showed you? The one you made for your baby cousin?"

"Fine," the girl said, obviously irked to have been awoken at such an ungodly hour. Raine took a good look at her as she threw off her blanket and dug around in the boxes and crates around the little wagon, pulling out various culinary receptacles. She looked to be about Raine's age, maybe a little younger, but she was definitely human. Raine would have to be careful to conceal her race if she didn't want these two to throw her back out of the wagon and into the wilderness.

The man in the front urged his horses into a trot, and they creaked off down the road, the wagon and its contents rattling disconcertingly. For a moment Raine was unsure if the thing was going to come right apart, but the girl didn't seem to be worried; she just concentrated on mixing a yellow-white liquid around in a jar, occasionally reaching into a crate or box around her for more ingredients.

"So, strange girl," the man said when he eased the horses to a steady pace. "Where do you come from?"

Raine didn't really know how to answer. "Far away," she said.

"So you're not from Palmacosta?"

"No."

"Here." The little girl handed her a mason jar filled with a slimy-looking fluid. "We don't have a bottle top so you're gonna have to use your finger."

Raine dipped the tip of her finger into the jar, wetting it with the milky drink before lowering it to Genis' lips. He sucked at her finger eagerly, and she smiled a little as she began the long process of feeding him his dinner drop by drop. The liquid smelled like fish oil and looked like thin mucus, but the baby seemed to actually like it.

The brown-haired girl sat and watched her as she fed her little brother. "You're kinda funny looking," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Raine's heart skipped a beat, but the girl's father swooped in to rescue her. "Chocolat, you do _not_ say things like that to guests. You do not say things like that to _anyone._ It's not polite. Get the poor girl some bread, and apologize."

She sighed, mouthed a halfhearted apology, and searched around her for some bread. After handing half a hard bun to Raine, she sat back for a few moments, expression darkening. "You know why daddy has to travel at night?" she said quietly, so her father couldn't hear.

Raine shook her head.

"It's because of Desians. Daddy says they're all out doing no-good things like getting drunk and... whores-ing around at this hour."

Raine had no idea what she was saying, about the horsing around and these Desians, but a cynical part of her had a nagging suspicion. She decided to ask anyway, just to make sure that this little girl knew she was innocent of any involvement with these untoward people. "What are Desians?" she asked.

"You don't know? Jeez, you really do come from far away."

Raine shrugged.

"You know, they're mixed-race. Dirt-breeds. Whips. Halfies."

Raine's heart sank when the girl confirmed her suspicion that Desian was just another derogatory term for half-elves. Deep down she had been able to guess as much, but she had wished that for a moment she could escape the omnipresent racial tension that shaped her world. A tiny part of her had hoped that if she had gone far enough away for the seasons and the moon to be completely different, then humans might be different too.

She was disappointed but ultimately unsurprised. Humans never changed.

"Yeah, they get you if you travel by day without a guide," the little girl continued. "That's how they got my grandma. If they see you traveling by yourself, you get sent straight off to the ranch. And you don't come back."

Raine nodded, feigning understanding. The way the girl referred to half-elves was unfamiliar. Sure, she was used to hearing fear in peoples' voices when they spoke of them, but it was a sort of derisive, nervous contempt. What this girl was suggesting, that half-elves were able to subdue and kidnap humans—that was entirely new. She seemed to be implying that they actually had some degree of power, which to Raine just seemed ridiculous.

Raine sighed. Obviously this girl wasn't too smart. She took a bite of stale bread with one hand and dripped formula into Genis' mouth with the other. Chocolat leaned in close and whispered over the sounds of the creaking wagon: "So, you're not one of them, are you?"

Again, Raine felt her lungs empty in panic. "Uh, no," she answered, spitting a few crumbs out. "I'm an elf. You know. Full-blooded."

"Ha! I knew you were funny-looking!" Chocolat yelled with delight, eliciting a stern scolding from her father. "Dad, she's an elf, can you believe it?"

"Never met one of those," he said. "Didn't know there were any left."

Raine leaned up against the bonnet and glanced into the darkness through a narrow rip in the canvas. "There aren't many."

"Interesting. There haven't been any around Palmacosta for decades. I reckon most elves live beyond the map."

"Yes." Raine nodded, eyes wandering across what little piece of the sky she could see.

"I really do wish I could travel more. There are still so many parts of the world that are unexplored."

Raine spied the moon and its alien markings. "Apparently so."

"You should get some sleep while you can," the man suggested. "We'll be there midmorning. Then you can meet your parents."

"Okay. Thank you." Raine closed her eyes, hugging Genis to her. He gurgled and settled down in her arms. She hoped he wouldn't make a mess of her clothes before morning, but that may have been a little too much to ask from a baby. She already smelled like his waste, and she was a little embarrassed to be sitting so close to other people, reeking like she did.

Chocolat didn't seem to care, though. She only lay down, exhausted, and began to snore lightly. Raine closed her eyes but found she couldn't sleep. Even snugly wrapped in the blankets pulled from the wagon's crates, even safe in the company of others, she still couldn't rest. So she peered out the back of the wagon into the night sky, watching the moon slowly make its way toward the horizon.

Now that she had food in her stomach, she had room in her head to think about her family and her situation. It was almost less painful to worry about starvation than to try to remember how she got to this strange land. Her head hurt whenever she tried to think about it. She feared closing her eyes, since she kept seeing the blurry, light-filled image of her mother crying, reaching out to her with a white hand, mouth open, calling her name. Raine sucked in her breath and watched the sky, trying to remember the last time she had seen her mother.

It had been a night much like this one. A bit chilly, with all the familiar constellations, and the moon was full. Yes, it was definitely full. But it had been another moon entirely. Raine bit her lip and her heart squeezed in anxiety. "Where are you?" she whispered to the sky.

The tiny sound of her feeble voice fluttered from the wagon and dissipated into the clear night. The moon and stars did not answer her—neither did the strange trees, the thin, crisp air, or the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Her voice disappeared into the countryside and her mother would never hear it. She sighed, hung her head and forced her eyes to close.

Somehow she managed to fall asleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, since when she opened her eyes, harsh grey sunlight swept across the wagon's bonnet and blurred her vision. She raised a hand and covered her face, yawning, before looking around. Genis still lay asleep on her lap, bundled in blankets with his little fists held up to his chin.

"Good morning, girls," the man in the front of the wagon said. "We're almost to the gate."

"Dad, I have to go to the bathroom," Chocolat whined, wiggling in the corner. "Stop this thing so we can get out."

Her father slowed the cart, and she jumped out the back, motioning for Raine to follow her. Raine looked over her shoulder at the man.

"I'll take him for a while," he said. He smiled when he saw Raine's suspicious frown. "Don't worry, I've handled plenty of babies before. Her included." He nodded to where his daughter had disappeared into the thick woods on the side of the road.

Raine sighed and gave him Genis before climbing out the back of the wagon and stretching her legs. Now that she was up and moving, she noticed that she really did need a bathroom break. So she followed Chocolat out into the woods, where they squatted next to one another under a tree, surveying the woods for what Chocolat called "dirty whips." Raine guiltily hoped that she actually might be able to meet some of these despised half-elves, especially if they were autonomous, independent, free from human chains. But she knew that was a bad idea. Guilt by association is strong in racial relations—she wasn't stupid enough to fraternize with Desians.

On their way back to the wagon, Chocolat stopped Raine and held her hand. "That's your baby, isn't it?" she asked.

"No," Raine answered. "It's my brother."

Chocolat snorted. "You probably don't even know how babies are made."

Raine thought about reciting what she had learned from her father about gametes and blastulae, but she knew Chocolat probably wouldn't understand. She only shrugged, giving the girl the benefit of the doubt.

"I knew it." Chocolat seemed pleased with herself as she led Raine back to the side of the road. "How many teeth have you lost?"

"I'm not sure," Raine answered. Loose teeth had never been something she'd bothered counting; she usually had more important things to worry about, like her books, or her magic, or simply staying alive.

"I've already lost eight," Chocolat said proudly, smiling wide and showing Raine her gaps. Raine wasn't sure how to reply, but the girl kept going. "You know, your little brother probably won't survive the winter. A lot of babies don't, in Palmacosta. There are always diseases."

Raine gulped. "We're probably not going to stay in Palmacosta, then."

Chocolat shrugged. "Well, good luck leaving it on your own. With all those monsters and Desians out there, you wouldn't last a day."

_I've already lasted several,_ Raine thought. She was getting a little tired of this conversation. Fortunately, the wagon soon came into view and they walked toward it in silence. Chocolat's father was holding Genis and cooing to him, smiling and laughing just like Raine's father used to.

Raine stopped in her tracks for a moment, struck suddenly with an awful thought. As she watched Genis giggle and squirm, now fully awake and smiling wide, she considered that perhaps it really would be best for him if she left him in the care of someone who knew what they were doing. Raine certainly didn't.

She climbed up into the wagon after Chocolat, sullen. Maybe she should find suitable surrogate parents for Genis, so they could keep him safe while she searched for their real family. She wondered if Chocolat's father would be willing to care for him, or if she should put up ads or just leave him at the door of some orphanage. She almost buckled under this idea, until Genis was handed back to her. His familiar weight in her arms reminded her that she had promised him she would keep him safe until they found their mother and father. She had to take care of him. Otherwise, what was a sister for? She looked down at him, at his round, pale cheeks. His smile faded and he stared blankly into her face, almost accusingly. She closed her eyes for a moment, crushed under the weight of his mindless stare.

_I don't need to be afraid of you,_ she told him silently. _You're just a baby. You aren't even a real person yet. I can handle you…_

She sat guiltily monologuing with her silent brother, unable to defend himself or argue back, until they reached Palmacosta. When the man announced they had arrived, Raine crawled up to the front of the wagon and stuck her head out, heart skipping a beat.

Before her stood an expansive brick wall, and behind it loomed large buildings of dark grey stone. It was a frightening sight, all those shadowy windows and smoke-colored blocks, thousands and thousands piled on top of one another, crumbling and moldy, occasionally etched with writing or pictures. The sight of all those grey bricks reminded Raine of stories she'd heard from her parents.

"Is this… is this the University?" she asked nervously.

The man turned around and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "What? There's a college here, if that's what you're asking. But there hasn't been a school big enough to be called a university in a long time. The Desians burnt the last one down more than… what, eighty years ago? This is just a regular, uneducated city." He smiled and drove the wagon onward, toward the town. "This is Palmacosta."

The man was kind enough to drop her off at the city gate, at her insistence. "Make your way to the Church of Martel. They're the ones who handle all the travel in the area. They'll know where your parents are." She bowed and thanked him as he nudged his horses through the gates and into the city, disappearing around a corner.

Raine took a deep breath and made her first steps back into the human world. The streets were bustling with activity, but the nature of the commotion was foreign to Raine. She had visited cities before, but never like this one. Children in rags lined the avenues, hands outthrust, wailing for money. Men and women soaked in salt sold rotting fish by the barrel. Cages of chickens piled up at the corners of the market, ratty and filled with feces. Meat and vegetables were stacked behind stands, vendors calling out to potential customers. Raine spied a stray dog running off with a pork leg, chased by a dozen laughing children and one very angry adult.

Raine made her way slowly through the market. She wrapped herself tighter in her jacket, huddling in its folds, trying to escape the thunderous din of the crowd. She pulled Genis closer to her as she walked past the bustle and toward the city center, where it was a little bit quieter. She told herself to keep an eye out for any church-like building, but she knew they wouldn't be able to find her parents for her. Wherever she was, it was too far away for her to find her family again that easily.

She stumbled through the town, not sure what she was searching for, until she came across the sea. It lapped at the edge of the city like a hungry monster, and her breath left her for a moment. She dared herself to walk closer to it, glancing at its shivering waves, its depths turning black under the shadows of clouds. It nearly made her sick to her stomach just looking at it, so she forced herself to turn away.

Behind her, facing the grey ocean, was a tall building that looked something like a school. She wondered if it might be some offshoot of the University, so she decided to avoid it, but couldn't help sneaking a peek through the one of its tall windows and drink in the sight of its extensive library. She did not look for long, but fled into the shadows, taking the image of the library with her, letting it fill her up the way food might. She wandered onward, trying to avoid the ocean, but it crept into the city in long canals, splitting streets and altogether being too ubiquitous for her taste. _Leave it to my luck to get stuck in a city practically halfway in the sea_ , she thought miserably.

As the day wore on, the sun disappeared behind a haze of white fog, and the temperature dropped. She wondered what she would do for the night, and regretted sending that kind man off without another word. She wouldn't be able to find him again in this big of a city, not for weeks at least. For now, she needed to find a place to stay for the night, and she needed to find Genis some food. She might be able to salvage some scraps from someone's garbage, but procuring milk for her little brother was another matter.

She wandered for hours as the evening grew colder and darker. Her stomach rumbled, and Genis began to cry all over again. She shivered, desperately looking around her for some shelter as a few droplets of rain splashed on her cheek. Somehow, even in the middle of civilization, she found herself in the same situation she had in the wilderness. She couldn't afford the luxury of basking in the irony of it; she needed to find warmth and food, fast.

Perhaps she could find someone's barn and milk their cow… no, there were no farms this far into the city… Maybe she could find a goat or pig or steal someone's cash and buy some milk, but one bottle wouldn't last for long. She needed a continuous supply. She acknowledged with some embarrassment that what she really needed was a good full pair of…

And then she saw them. As the sun finally set and the street lanterns of Palmacosta were lit, they emerged from an elaborate building at the corner of the square, lined up in a row, as if on display. There were plenty of them to go around, some in full view, most half-covered, but all looked perfectly, beautifully capable of feeding a starving baby.

Raine smiled and gripped her brother tighter to her as she approached the laughing group of women, all gathered outside the brightly-lit door of what looked to be a theatre or hotel of some sort.

"Excuse me," Raine put on her most polite face. The women glanced down at her, some derisively, some kindly.

"What do you want, kid?" one asked.

"I was wondering if… I could… What can I do for you so that you'll feed my brother?" She held up the baby as if in offering. Two of them looked at one another and burst out laughing.

"Piss off, girl," one said.

"Go back to your mum and dad," suggested another.

Raine's heart sank. From far away, all these women looked so amiable, so welcoming… "I don't have a family. My little brother is starving. I need a place to stay. Please."

"I thought I told you to piss off, you stinky little beggar."

"Give her a break." A younger woman, brown-haired and plain, dressed comparatively primly, pushed through the group and bent down toward Raine. "You have no place to stay?" she asked. "Why did you come here, of all places?"

"Well… I…"

"She's just here to buy what everyone's here to buy. So sell it to her, Etta." An eruption of laughter from the ladies.

Etta sighed. "All right, then. It beats regular work. What are you paying?"

"I… don't have any money."

"Of course she doesn't!" one of the women called.

"Okay, dear. Follow me inside, then. I can't just leave you and that sweet thing out here all night." She took Raine's hand and led her through the doorway and into the bright salon. "Welcome to the Sea Witch."

"The what?" Raine asked.

"The biggest establishment on this side of the continental river."

Raine glanced at the gaudy decor, the red draperies, the marble statue of a mermaid luring sailors to their deaths, the torches burning brightly on the walls. She had no idea what it all meant, or what this woman was talking about. All she knew was that she was suddenly engulfed in a confusing, unfamiliar environment, and she would have to face the consequences of her actions, maybe sooner than she hoped. She looked up at the woman leading her through the building and thought miserably to herself, _What in the name of all the gods have I gotten myself into?_


	3. Terra Incognita

The woman whom Etta referred to only as Ma'am sat behind her desk, plastered in enough makeup to sink a ship. She did not look happy. When she saw Raine, one hand cradling a baby and the other desperately holding onto the folds of Etta's scarlet dress, she frowned and narrowed her cosmetic-caked eyes.

"What's this?" she asked. "She looks a little young to be asking for a job."

"She needs someone to feed her little brother," Etta replied softly. "I thought that with my new baby and all, it's no skin of my back to do the poor girl a favor."

"Oh, really?" the older woman stood, adjusting her wig. "And what can she do for us? She doesn't look old enough to draw a crowd. Although, some men appreciate that sort of thing." She looked her over with a scrutinizing eye, and Raine felt her face redden. She still wasn't completely sure what was going on. "What is she?" Ma'am continued. "Some sort of halfie? We already got one of those."

"I'm a… fully," Raine said.

"A what?"

"An elf. Full-blooded."

"You're not very funny, little girl," Ma'am frowned.

"I'm not trying to be." Raine decided to take her chances. "Full elf or no, my little brother needs to eat. I'll do chores for you. I'll…" Raine looked around. There did seem to be an abundance of cloth and drapery here at the Sea Witch. "I'll clean the sheets, do the laundry, scrub the floors, whatever you need. Just let him eat. Please."

Ma'am seemed to honestly consider her offer for a moment. She wiggled her thin red lips thoughtfully. "Have you bled yet?" she asked.

"Uh…" Raine didn't know why this stranger needed to know, but she decided she was in a vulnerable enough position to be honest. "No."

"It ain't legal, Ma'am," Etta said earnestly.

"I know that, you twittering idiot!" Ma'am loomed over Raine, examining her, and the girl tried to tuck her head deeper into her jacket like a turtle retreating into its shell. "Still, having an exotic girl like you around for decoration might drum up some business. Get a waiting list growing."

Raine gulped, looking up into the greedy grey eyes of the tall, hard woman. They stared at one another for a few seconds longer than Raine could stand, and she lowered her gaze.

"Fine. Etta will feed your brother while you do some chores around here. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Now piss off, both of you. Etta, get that crying thing to shut up and get back to work. You, girl, you start working in the early morning. Get lost."

*

That night Raine slept in a room no bigger than a closet, on a scratchy, hard bed. She was so exhausted that despite the nocturnal noise all around her, the thumping and music and laughter and uproar, she was asleep as soon as her head hit the sorry excuse for a pillow.

She dreamt of the sea, of the black, foaming waves, crawling up the grey stones of the city like the tendrils of some watery beast. They soaked the streets and seeped through cracks in buildings, eating up and dissolving bricks the way tea might dissolve a biscuit. The whole town ceased to be solid, and instead became a maze of sponge and seaweed, and in the middle of the town square, unable to move, lay Raine. She could do nothing as the freezing water slowly made its way up to her, covering her limbs, her chest, her mouth—

When she awoke, she was crying. She reached out around her, momentarily forgetting where she was, and she closed her hand around her pack, still wet from the rain, sitting beside her cot. She looked around for Genis, and then remembered that he was upstairs, sharing a creaky makeshift crib with Etta's baby. He was probably better off tucked in with another child than he was down here in the cold dark with Raine, so she let herself relax a little.

She dug through her pack in the dark for a few minutes and pulled out the little black shard of metal she had found in the stream outside the city. It felt weirdly warm, and she held it close to her chest as she turned back over and closed her eyes. She didn't want to go back to sleep, to feel the cold rush of seawater on her limbs, to have her lungs flooded and her body swept away into the ocean. She only held onto the shard tighter, letting the tiny arrowhead reassure her that she was awake now, that it was just a dream, that she was all right.

_The dream is only a memory_ , she told herself. _And memories cannot hurt me. They cannot hurt me… they cannot hurt…_

Early morning came far too soon. Raine was shaken awake by a tired-looking Etta, rings under her eyes. Outside the tiny slit of a window above her bed, she could see it was barely light out. She rubbed her caky lids, yawning.

"Time to get up," Etta said. Her voice was soft, gentle, comforting. Raine forced herself to sit up and follow that voice, follow it right out of her room, through the darkened lounge and down a tiny hall to a small, lantern-lit laundry room. Raine didn't wake up fully until she was on her knees, hands submerged in a huge basin of hot, caustic solution, kneading sheets between her palms. Etta disappeared, leaving Raine alone in the shadowy room with an elderly woman, dark-skinned and overweight, washing yards and yards of fabric.

And Raine stayed there, for hours, every morning, until hours turned into days. She washed all sorts of fabric—cotton and silk and satin, ranging from a dark carmine to a purplish cerise, sheets, blankets, draperies, clothes, anything that could easily be squeezed and wrung and folded. Well, easily for anyone but Raine. For some reason, she couldn't get the hang of it. It seemed simple enough, but every time Raine thought she had done the washing right, it turned into some disaster. The old woman who sat silently next to her, pushing the laundry around in the vats, occasionally reached over and slapped Raine's hand, stopping her from putting in too much soap, rinsing insufficiently, hanging the wet sheets up to dry incorrectly, but she never said anything. No friendly advice, no scolding, nothing. Raine suspected she was a deaf-mute, but she didn't mind the silent mornings, when she had the chance to trail off in her own head, let her thoughts wander, and forget about her situation.

It might have been this absentmindedness that ruined so many of the things she was tasked with washing. Only after a few days in the domestic service of the Sea Witch she was brought before someone who was not Ma'am, but looked almost as intimidating and equally as irritable.

"Do you have _any_ idea how expensive it is to get genuine Triet silk?" she growled. "You can't just leave the soap in there, especially not the alkaline cleaner. My god, girl, were you raised in a barn?" Raine just looked at the ground, silent. As a matter of fact, she had slept in barns quite often before, snuggled in the hay between her parents. "You've set us back more than you're worth." Raine was informed that she could either get her act together and manage to help out without destroying anything, or she had to take her brother and go beg in the streets.

In order to save the laundry, they put her in the kitchen, where she managed to burn everything but the water. So in order to save the food, they stuck her with a needle and thread, but she wasn't much for sewing and mending, either. With each domestic failure Raine grew more and more certain that they would throw her back out on the street and she would have to begin the search for food and shelter all over again. Etta, who despite her mild demeanor must've held some sway over Ma'am and company, kept insisting that they give her another chance (and another, and another). Eventually they found something Raine could not destroy: the bathhouse. All she had to do was scrub on her hands and knees for a few hours, washing away the grime and dirty water. It was a task that no one else was willing to do since the caustic cleansing agents made one's hands dry out and peel, and since Raine didn't have anything particularly seductive to do with her hands, they figured she was well-suited to the job. Raine didn't mind; after her work was done she could settle down in her tiny room, put her palms together and whisper incantations that would slowly coax moisture back into her hands, stitching the skin back together until they were as good as new.

Raine was adjusting to the climate of her surroundings, slowly, but surely. Early in the mornings, at about four, after the baths closed, she would be roused and sent to work, bucket of acid in one hand and scrubber in the other. She would sit on her hands and knees, enduring the harsh smells of cleaner that masked the sweeter, sickly scents of bathing perfumes, which in turn masked smells more natural, more human, heavy and discomforting. After an hour of cleaning her nose would adjust, and she would hum or talk to herself as she worked. She liked the way her voice reverberated from the walls and came back to her. Sometimes if she spoke low enough, the voice that returned to her ears sounded remarkably like her mother's.

When she was satisfied with her cleaning (meaning she wouldn't be upbraided by the proprietress for doing a piss-poor job), she would return to her tiny little closet of a room and rub her hands back to health, occasionally picking up the tiny black arrowhead and feeling its sharp edges.

_I have to be sharp_ , she told herself. _I have to be sharp, small, unnoticeable. That's why this piece of history has survived and others have not. I either have to be an unshakable monument, or a tiny arrowhead. And I cannot be a monument. Not yet, anyway._

Almost every day, she clutched the fragment to herself for a few minutes, until she collected herself. It would be about nine or ten in the morning by this time, so she would go upstairs to check on Genis, who slept peacefully next to Etta's infant son. Usually Etta was in the room with them, napping or breastfeeding, but occasionally she would still be working in other parts of the building. Raine would touch her brother lightly on the forehead if he was asleep, carry him around if he was awake. Sometimes, when Etta was around, she would stick by her and watch her feed the babies, and they would talk for a while before Etta went to sleep.

"How old are you, Raine?" she asked the first time Raine had come up to visit her little brother.

"Eleven," Raine answered.

"You're too young to be hanging around here. With a baby, and by yourself... my gods, what on earth happened to your parents?"

"I don't really know," she answered truthfully. Etta didn't inquire beyond that—she was sensitive enough to realize that there are some subjects better left untouched. Raine looked for a way to change the topic, to stave off awkwardness. "Does he have a father?" Raine asked, nodding to Etta's baby, still asleep in his crib.

Etta chuckled. "I suspect so. Somewhere out there."

Raine shut her mouth, worried that she may have asked the wrong question.

Etta stared at the wall, smile fading. "Raine, do you know what kind of place this is?" she asked. A little frightened of looking ignorant, Raine nodded, but she could tell Etta didn't believe her. "Do you know how children are made?"

"Yes. Well... it's different in every species," Raine began, faithfully recounting her father's short speech he had recited when she had asked the same question. "Since we reproduce sexually, we make gametes, which are haploid cells containing half of our genetic information. You have a sperm from the father, an ovum from the mother, and when the two fuse during fertilization, a zygote forms. If a sperm of X type meets an ovum, it's a girl, if a Y type sperm meets it, it's a boy. The cells divide until they turn into an embryo, then a fetus, and after nine months of gestation, a baby is born." She paused, thinking for a moment. "As far as I know, you can't control whether or not it's an X or a Y that meets the ovum, but I'm not completely sure. I've never tried."

Etta stared at her, open-mouthed. Raine turned away, cheeks turning red, sure that she had said something utterly incorrect. Before she could sneak away in embarrassment, Etta reached out a hand and gently grabbed her arm. "Darling, that was brilliant. But I think you're missing a few parts of that process. There's much more to it than... whatever you described. But you're a smart, smart girl, I can tell. You'll figure it all out someday. Hopefully not too soon. And not the way I did."

Raine could tell Etta was trying her best to impart important knowledge, but Raine didn't quite know what to gather from it. "A few parts of the process" wasn't much to go on, but she could tell that Etta wasn't going to elaborate. Raine decided to guide the conversation elsewhere. "What's your baby's name?" she asked.

"He doesn't have one yet."

"Really? Why not?"

Etta smiled. "You're really not from around here, are you? We usually don't name them until we're sure they're gonna live at least a while. The winters are hard, and there's always the ranch... plenty of young parents are taken there, you know, while they're still in their prime, and their babies can't survive without them. People in this place find it easier not to name their children until they're sure the name won't be wasted on them. I'm still not certain about him, but I'm hoping beyond hope he'll get through the winter. This year will be a plague year, I'm pretty sure."

"So what do you call him?" Raine was a little disconcerted about the implication of refusing to name one's child. She wondered if Genis would survive, or if she could get them both out of Palmacosta before the plague rolled around.

"Usually we call them after household items and such. Until we can get a real, strong name for them. I just call him Candle. Light of my life, you know." She laughed. "But if he grows up strong, I'll name him something a little more dignified."

Raine thought back to the girl named Chocolat. She figured it might've been a baby name that stuck for a little too long. She also imagined how many brothers and sisters Chocolat must've had die before she came along. Half amused, half horrified, he went through a list of names in her head of all the girl's siblings, Butter and Parchment and Washtub and Sealing Wax, all pretty much items—burdens—to parents too poor to count on having them all live to adulthood. Raine had read about this side effect of poverty before, but it was practically unthinkable where she was from.

When Etta would tuck herself and the boys into bed, and the Sea Witch would extinguish its colorful lanterns, the buzz of activity quieting down to a muted hum, Raine would emerge from its doors out into the murky grey daylight, where signs of winter were rapidly descending on the city. Time and time again, though she told herself not to, she would linger outside the local school, peering through windows, examining the libraries and classrooms like some guilty voyeuse, trying to overhear the lectures through the glass or interpret the diagrams and equations scribbled in chalk over the board. She knew the school had what she needed to survive: books, knowledge, maps, and comfort, but she was unsure if this was an offshoot of the University. She was also certain that if they weren't part of the insidious University, they would immediately see through her elfin facade and kick her out. Raine's mother had told her once that affiliation with half-elves was illegal in institutions of higher learning. But Raine needed what the school had—a library.

With books on her side, she might be able to figure out where she was, and how to get back to her parents. She had tried asking around the Sea Witch about the geography of the nearby area, but she was only answered with laughter. This was Palmacosta, they all insisted, nothing else. If you don't know that then there's no hope for you, little girl. So Raine gave up on asking the women, and instead focused her energy on getting into the library. After about a week of wavering on the tip of either bursting inside the institute's walls or running away from the city entirely, she decided that it was worth taking a look inside. When she finally plucked up the courage to walk through the school's doors, she was shaking, not just from the cold, but with the fear that she'd walked into a trap set meticulously by the University. She comforted herself with the idea that if this really was the shady entity she'd been running from her whole life, they might at least know where her parents were.

The halls were empty—class was still in session. She looked to her left, her right, down the silent corridors lit with warm torches. Now, for at least a brief moment, she had access to information she might need, and she didn't have to worry about coming across someone who may be able to deduce her race. She was alone, so she was free.

She stood tall, trying to make herself look at home. She walked calmly down the hall, toward what she knew was the library. She took deep breaths, forcing one foot in front of the other, trying not to burst into an excited sprint. She had to resemble a student—a burnt-out student not looking forward to hours of tedious study.

Two tall boys emerged from a door in front of her, deep in conversation. It looked like they had come from a private study room, since no one else followed them out. Raine tensed up, panicking inwardly, sure that they would be able to smell her mixed blood from all the way down the hall, sure they could tell that she did not belong here, but they were so engrossed in their conversation they didn't even notice her. They just talked quietly, sauntering down the hall, straight past her. Raine breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she really could pull off the act of the young student, at least until someone recognized her elfin features and figured out she wasn't human.

With a new confidence, mixed in with giddy anticipation, Raine nearly skipped to the library door. She took a deep breath and opened it with a massive wooden creak, and she was inside.

The library was not as impressive as some she'd seen back home, but if it had a geographical section it would have to do. She crept behind shelves, trying to move as quietly as possible, in case someone was in here, but it seemed like she was alone. She scoured the shelves, struggling a little to read the text on some of the books, but even with the strange, slightly altered alphabet, she was able to find a good atlas or three. She pulled them off the shelves and nearly collapsed under their weight. She hauled them to a nearby table and set them down, hunching over their yellowed pages.

The coastlines and continents were completely foreign to her. She traced her finger along the contours of the maps, looking for a familiar shape, a familiar river, anything to help her find her way back home. She combed through pages, hundreds of them, unable to find a recognizable feature. Most of the books were about the Palmacostan continent, which was understandable; some included the southernmost regions of the adjacent continent, a massive, lifeless desert. Raine was unfamiliar with both of these landscapes, so she looked for bigger and bigger maps, covering wider areas. When she finally found a fold-out, the largest map in any of the atlases, it contained nothing she could recognize. It featured two continents, one covered mostly in an enormous mountain range, the other nearly half eaten-away by a gargantuan desert. "The Known World," the map said, title and compass rose encircled in floral designs. At the edges of the oceans a more creative cartographer had drawn sea monsters, large-toothed and beady-eyed, perhaps to discourage exploration so his map would never be out of date.

Raine gulped. So she really had gotten herself lost on a great unknown continent, off the edges of the map, so far from home she had no chance of getting back.

With a painful jolt, all of her comforting, self-deluding fantasies of being merely lost disappeared. Hope left her, and she realized that this was no mistake, this had been her mother's plan all along. After years of discrimination and fear, the burden of mixed breed children had become just too great. She had sent them off to a place where they would never be found, never bother her again, never force her to run, to hide, to face her responsibilities.

Her mother had made sure that Raine would never see her again. Raine had no idea how it was possible, but somehow her mother had managed to bend the entire globe around and place her unwanted daughter on the other side of it. Raine's clenched fists nearly ripped the edges of the map. She didn't need to worry about her mother coming for her, she didn't need to worry about finding her family again. They were running from her as much as they were running from the University. And even if she did encounter them again, she knew they wouldn't want her.

The worst part was that she couldn't really blame them. It was her fault, for being what she was. It was her fault that her parents couldn't do their work, it was her fault they couldn't settle down. Hers and her little brother's. But she couldn't help thinking that if her blood really was to blame, if her parents never wanted a dirty half-breed for a child, why on earth did they have Genis too?

"Miss? Are you all right? Why are you crying?"

A soft, elderly voice brought her crashing back down into the library. She stood quickly, again registering that she was a trespasser and was probably in for a beating. She glanced up, eyeing what might have been the librarian, an old geezer of indeterminable sex, hovering over her books.

"Are you a student here?" the aged scholar asked.

Raine didn't answer. She flung herself over the table, slid to the other side and made for the door as fast as she could. She swung it open, panting, not daring to look behind her. She sprinted, panicking, tears flying, out the door of the school and back into the chilly winter air, not stopping until she was safely in the shadows of the Sea Witch.


	4. The Actual Witch of the Sea Witch

Raine shut herself up in her tiny room, swaddled herself in the itchy bedclothes, and cried all night. She tossed and turned, trying to force herself to go to sleep, to faint, to escape the sinking feeling that spread from her heart and into the rest of her body, practically eating her alive. She was alone, truly alone, there was no going back, there was no escape, what was she going to do, for herself, for Genis… would they survive the winter, would they survive the Desian raids, would they always have food, shelter, would they be able to go to school, to have a home... The questions built up in Raine's head until they physically hurt her, scraping at the inside of her skull like long-nailed fingers.

From late afternoon and straight into early morning, Raine lay there, bundled and panicking, forcing herself to take one breath after another. It was as if her body were trying to realize, as well as her mind, that she was utterly alone, at the mercy of the hostile world around her. She had trouble moving, she had trouble thinking clearly, she couldn't see anything but blurry shadows. She didn't hear Etta come in.

"What's wrong?"

The voice brought Raine partially out of her hopeless stupor, and reminding her that she was probably already late for work. She turned over, trying to dry her eyes before they revealed she had been crying. But Etta was too good at reading the postures and unspoken words of those around her—before Raine could get up and pretend to be fine, the woman was at the head of her cot, leaning over her, stroking her hair gently.

The unbidden affection, so heart-wrenchingly motherly, seemed to make everything just a little bit worse. Raine pulled herself up slowly, hugging her knees, as Etta ran three fingers through a strand of silver hair, twirling it comfortingly. "Tell me what's wrong," she said.

When Raine looked up into Etta's worn face, she could see a dark bruise ringing one swollen eye. The white of her eye was stained with blood, and the inflammation spread almost past her cheekbone. For a moment, Raine stopped crying, drawn in by the severity of the woman's injury and the nonchalance with which she carried it. Raine reached up toward the darkened skin, and Etta winced, but let her lay her fingers on her swollen eye. Etta sighed, forcing a smile.

"It just comes with the job," she said. "Don't worry about it."

"Hold still," Raine told her, drawing energy from the pit of her stomach. She let it course through her veins, imagining it as light, as sound, just like her mother taught her. Whenever she'd scrape a knee, get a bruise, or even once when she broke her foot, her mother had been there, telling her what to do. Even now Raine could hear a distant, low voice coax her fingers and mind into doing the proper thing.

A faint blue light emanated from her fingertips, a dim sort of flickering, devoid of heat but not devoid of energy. When she took her hand away from Etta's face, the woman blinked once, twice, amazed at her now painless eye, lid shrunk back down to its normal size. Etta gaped at Raine, mouth open. The way she stared, you'd think that Raine had just reached over and blackened her other eye.

"You're a witch!" she hissed.

Raine took in a sharp breath, immediately regretting her momentary kindness. At first she thought Etta was going to scream. She thought she was going to run out, flail, smack Raine across the face. Raine closed her eyes, preparing to be struck or scolded, but no blow came. She dared herself to look, and saw that Etta's eyes were wide not in horror, but excitement. Raine relaxed slightly as the woman embraced her.

"I can't believe it! I've always wanted to meet one."

Raine eyed her, disbelieving. Healing magic, among other types, was pretty common back home—Raine and her mother were only two among many who could do it. Practitioners of magic were mostly elves and half-elves, but even a few humans could do it. A good portion of them could even use more than one kind of magic—Raine had just been born unlucky, "monochromatic," as her mother said.

So she couldn't help wonder why Etta was so amazed at her usage of only the simplest of spells. "It's not that big a deal," Raine said.

"Not a big deal!" Etta cried. "You fixed me faster than any physician. You're practically a miracle worker!" Etta stared into her eyes for perhaps longer than Raine was comfortable. Then, suddenly as her joy appeared, it dissipated, and Etta put on her best stern look. "Speaking of miracles, you'd better get to scrubbing the bathhouse; it has to be spotless by evening."

*

Raine got on her hands and knees in the middle of an empty, slimy marble tub, hands burning from the acidic cleaner, thinking hard. She dipped her sponge in the bucket of caustic soap, and slapped it to the stone, rubbing away the scum and sticky substances that had accrued at the tub's bottom.

Raine knew now was the time she needed to start seriously considering her situation. Now that she was alone in the baths, she might be able to sort through her thoughts uninterrupted. Scrubbing time was thinking time, and Raine didn't mind having the whole bathhouse to share only with her thoughts.

Unfortunately, today her thoughts were more trying than usual. She had to confront the reality that she was here, in this strange, faraway country, alone, forever. No family but that crying little burden, incapable of helping her out. She needed to make sure that she and her brother were fed and sheltered for a little while… She shuddered when she realized that a little while was not in her cards. She needed to feed and clothe herself and him for the rest of their lives. There would be no triumphant return to her parents. There would be no going home—she would have to be both her own mother and Genis' from now on.

She threw the sponge at the tub's wall with a frustrated shout, but it bounced off softly, hopelessly, and Raine was forced to just go pick it up again to complete her work.

Sure, she could stay here for a while—at least she and her brother were fed and sheltered. But she knew she couldn't stay here forever. She needed to find a job that would pay for books, needed to find a good home for the both of them… Gods, it was all too difficult to think about right now. If she let herself get caught up in the horror of her loneliness, the direness of her situation, the perils of the future and the inaccessibility of the past, she could sit here crying all day.

For now, she just needed to get through her work. She needed to get through today, and then she needed to get through tomorrow. That didn't sound so hard.

It was hard.

But she did it. She got through the cleaning, mindlessly scrubbing for hours on end, and she made it back to her room each day. She would force herself to take care of her own peeling hands, and then make her way upstairs to where Genis and little Candle lay side-by-side, and get some quality time in with her little brother. And almost every day, she would find herself outside the school, gazing through its windows, trying both to convince herself to enter and to tell herself to never go near it again. She knew they would figure out who she was, the trespasser in the library, but she couldn't help going there day after day, trying to escape the loneliness of the Sea Witch and the hopelessness that surrounded it. She wanted to bury herself in words and forget, if only for a moment, that she was now officially an orphan.

The people who frequented the school didn't seem to notice or recognize her, or else they didn't seem to care. Raine doubted that this school had any affiliation at all with the looming, ubiquitous University, so each day she grew braver, sitting closer and closer to the window, jotting down whatever she could on what little scrap paper she could find around the Sea Witch—usually the backs of transaction receipts, or of ill-conceived love letters written to the women from clients or strangers. Raine moved from classroom window to classroom window, taking notes, deciphering the lectures, trying to find a good fit for her scholastic level. After a while, she found herself the perfect class. It seemed to be filled with men and women much older than she was, but what the instructor would jot down on the board seemed to coincide perfectly with where she had left off on her last textbooks. So she stood outside the classroom, watching the instructor scribble, watching the students turn pages and ask questions. Raine was disappointed she couldn't hear anything, but she could always derive and infer the connections between whatever equations or diagrams were written on the board. Besides, the lecturer's animated gestures and lively facial expressions always conveyed what needed to be said. Even though Raine couldn't hear him, she could understand him pretty well. She counted herself lucky to have stumbled across such an effective speaker. After hours of hanging outside his classroom each day, her fingers would be numb from the cold, whatever she wrote would be soaked in the early winter rains, and she would have to make her way back to the Sea Witch before she froze to death.

For a while, Raine was worried that Etta would tell others about her magic. She had noticed, often only by overhearing vague snippets of the townspeople's conversations, that magic was something to be feared and abhorred, at least in this part of the world. When it was mentioned, it was with a nervous, almost bitter reverence, as if merely speaking of it could bring destruction. Because the only ones who could use it—namely, those of elven blood—used it for ill, the extent of people's experience with magic involved raids, skirmishes, or downright slaughter. Here, magic was a power reserved for Desians.

Raine had seen a few Desians in town, armored, faceless, indifferent to the waves of fear that spread in their wake. They didn't have to so much bat an eye to get a crowd to part for them, so she never saw them use the whips they always carried (which Raine assumed was the origin of the derogatory term she had heard humans use for them—when they weren't around, of course). She'd even seen a few at the Sea Witch, laughing and taunting loudly, sometimes singing in some pidgin form of elvish to a terrified but forcibly smiling worker, who would bow low and present them with enough alcohol to drown a horse. Raine had thought she would be relieved with the elevated status of half-elves here in this part of the world, but what she saw only disgusted her. They behaved no better than humans had in her home country—violent, arrogant, inebriated with unlimited authority and eager to abuse it.

Whenever she found herself in the more public halls of the Sea Witch, she would never look them in the eye, not only because she didn't want their mindless, hedonistic sadism to rub off on her, not because she feared their whips or blades, but because she was afraid they would recognize her as one of their own. So far, she had escaped their notice, but she didn't know how long that would last. If one of them should call out to her, beckon her over, she would be obligated to obey, and when they got a good look at her… half-elves always recognize others of their kind. Always. It was uncanny.

So she avoided the Desians. Whenever she found herself stumbling back from outside the school in the late afternoon or early evening, soaked notes in hand, if she spied any near the Sea Witch, she would simply go around the back where they wouldn't see her. She would make her way up the rickety stairs where the women would take their cigarettes and pipes out before their shifts and talk for hours, watching the ships sail in. They were always eager to share some of their worldly wisdom with Raine. Half of it she didn't understand.

Today wasn't much different. Raine was just trying to squeeze through the small crowd of ladies when an older woman, who went by Grace, grabbed her by the arm, nearly causing her to drop her notes. "You see that man over there?" she said, pointing to an alley behind the establishment. A pudgy, shadowy man snuck through it like a rat through the sewer. "His wife is a physician. She sends him to drop off prescriptions to some of her patients, and every once in a while he manages to sell them off for enough money to come here and get some company."

Raine eyed the little man bouncing off toward the harbor as Grace continued: "When she asks him why he's late, and why the her patients sent word to say their medicine never arrived, he'll make up some excuse. 'I was robbed, I lost the prescriptions in the harbor, I set them down for one minute, turned around, and they were gone!' he'd say. What a load of royal horse shit." Grace raised her pipe to her lips and puffed. Raine saw the beginnings of silver streak her temples, but Grace was still vivacious and beautiful, in her own sharp, harsh way. "This is what men are, dear. This is how your sons will be and how your father was."

"I had a father once," Raine replied. "He was nothing like that man."

Grace laughed, prompting the women around her to chuckle as well. "I had a father once too. He was exactly like that man."

"Tell me about it," a younger girl said.

"Mine too."

"Hell, my brothers and uncles, too."

In the uproar of cynical laughter, Raine made her escape. She slipped up the stairs and into one of the quieter halls of the establishment, planning on visiting Genis before retiring to her room to study her notes and copy them on paper that wasn't totally soaked. She'd probably have to borrow some paper from Etta—her admirers sometimes left her love notes and such. There was one man who bestowed upon her pages and pages of poetry so appallingly bad that Raine found herself loving them. She liked to put her notes on the back of those the best, so whenever she was feeling down she could turn it over and chuckle at his lyrical catastrophes.

She made her way to Etta's room, her mood lifted a little at the thought of enjoying some of his terrible writing. "Here you go, dear," Etta would say to her, handing her sheets and sheets of half-rhyming nonsense. "I've no use for 'em anyway." And then Raine would make sure the paper didn't go to waste by copying onto them diagrams and dates, names and equations.

When she got to Etta's small chamber, she found the woman sitting on her bed, nursing Genis and Candle both, smiling and cooing at them. When she heard Raine enter, she looked up and smiled. Raine had been worried for the past few days that the use of her magic had jeopardized the fundamental trust between her and Etta, but if anything, it seemed to make Etta even more affectionate.

"Here, dear, hold him." She handed a gurgling Genis to Raine. He was getting heavy—a good sign. Raine looked him over, at his fat face and healthy glow, and tried to imagine him as the tiny, starving thing that he was only a few weeks ago. Well, he may be an orphan now, but at least he wasn't dead. _Look at me,_ Raine thought. _Ever the optimist._

She glanced over at Etta and noticed her bare arms were covered in blue-black splotches. She set a gurgling Genis down on the bed, then reached over and touched her skin, looking at the marks that strong, angry fingers had left in her plump flesh. Etta flinched, but let Raine touch the swollen skin, mumbling incantations and letting the light flow through her fingers.

"You're amazing, Raine," Etta said, after her arm went back to smooth, pale normality.

Raine flashed her a smile, but wasn't sure if walking around with light at her fingertips was the best idea here in a world where magic designated you as a tyrant. "You're not going to… tell anyone, are you?"

"Not if you don't want me to." Etta examined her arm, expertly cradling her son with the other one. "Actually, better yet, let's not. Don't want everyone in town lining up at the door during plague season. Better to pick your battles."

"So, you're not scared of it or anything?" Raine asked. "Everyone in town seems wary of magic."

"No way in hell," Etta smiled. "I've always wanted a witch on my side. My sisters used to tell me stories about witches. How powerful they were. How they could go anywhere they wanted, whenever they wanted. They would just snap their fingers and be gone…" Etta's eyes dimmed, as if she was looking past Raine, through the wall, and out into a completely different landscape. "They never let anyone tell them what to do. We decided that we were all going to grow up to be witches. But I guess…" Etta blushed a little. "I guess I just admired them because they were never at anyone's mercy, you know. But I'd always assumed that since magic is just a Desian thing... that these good witches were all just made up. And now I actually got to meet one."

Raine was not sure she was ready to take on the role of powerful magical benefactor. She wasn't even sure how to reply to Etta's small confession. But Genis saved her the trouble by bursting into tears, and Raine handed him back so he'd get some food.

"He's almost ready to wean, you know," Etta said. "We could get him on solid foods, but then you wouldn't need me anymore. What are you going to do then?"

Raine shrugged. "Well, I don't have any money. I might have to go beg somewhere. Or find other work. Working here only provides us with shelter and some table scraps, at best. If I can eke out enough money to live off of for a while, I can travel. Go to school, maybe. Although, I don't know if the schools here allow anyone but humans in."

Etta smiled sadly. "I think they do. But you're going to have to raise a lot more than you can make here if you want to go to any of those academies. Especially at your level. You'd practically have to pay for a degree."

Raine considered the possibility that she'd be forced to attend a school for Desians. She doubted they even had schools, and when she thought about it a little longer, she began to doubt they even had children. Raine had never seen a Desian who looked younger than about twenty, and she couldn't imagine a gang of such reprobates raising a child. She tried to imagine those heartless soldiers breastfeeding and cradling and cooing, but couldn't.

Perhaps one only became a Desian through conscious choice, through years of conditioning. She imagined they were born blank, like any other half-elf. Like Genis, perhaps. She glanced over at his smiling face, his shining eyes, and imagined it hidden behind the shadowy mask of Palmacosta's omnipotent oppressors. A vision of Genis holding a whip, beating someone down, swept through her mind, and it terrified her. She got up, citing that she had schoolwork to do, and left. As she walked down the hall back to her room, she tried to think of anything but Desians. But she couldn't get the image of Genis grown, her beside him, driven to the brink by prejudice, taking revenge on the species that had wronged them, and having no regrets about it.

*

Raine was not surprised when Ma'am called her up to her office, a dreary but overdecorated cave from which light seemed to retreat. She figured that it as about time she would be told to stop scraping food off the underbelly of the establishment and get herself a real job.

Ma'am's smile was strangely encouraging, however. "I've heard that your darling brother is moving on to solid foods."

"He's trying," Raine said, recalling how stubborn he was at opening his mouth.

"How are you going to get the money to feed him, now that Etta can't do it for free?"

Raine wondered if Etta had spoken to Ma'am about it—everyone seemed to be awfully concerned with Raine's financial situation. Perhaps they were all just naturally solicitous, but the unrelenting demon of logic in Raine's mind tried to tell her otherwise.

Ma'am only stood, and a wide smile cracked her lipstick. "I have a proposal for you. You can continue working here, and we'll even let your brother stick around."

Raine narrowed her eyes. She had a feeling where this was going, given the kind of work the women did here. "What do I have to do?"

Ma'am shrugged innocuously. "Not much, dear. Just lounge around and be background decoration. During the opening hours of the establishment, you'll just have to sit in the lobby, that's all. You just have to laze around and look nice. It drums up business."

Raine thought about it for a moment. Pehraps since she wasn't an adult yet, that might be her only available function. And if Ma'am was actually going to pay her… "Will you pay for me to go to school during the day?" she ventured.

Ma'am laughed uproariously. "Dear gods, no! What if someone recognizes you as the girl from the brothel? No, you can't go to school, not while you're working here. Especially not to any of the academies by the central square. Besides, this is a business—we can't go throwing away that much money on schooling one employee." Ma'am looked at her, wiggling her lips in thought. "However, we will pay for your books, as long as you promise to stay here until you're at least fourteen."

Books, dear gods, _books._ Maybe, for the first time in her life, she'd be able to actually own one. She forcibly tried to keep from smiling. Ma'am continued, ignoring Raine's weird, pained expression.

"You can still go sit outside the school building, but you're going to have to take some care to disguise yourself." Raine didn't bother asking how Ma'am knew she had a habit of spying in on the lectures. "We just don't want you tarnishing the school's reputation, that's all." So be it. It was just like it was back home, where a half-elf could destroy the credibility of any establishment. Raine would have to live with that.

Raine looked at her feet, deep in thought. Since she would never be able to actually attend school, this might be the best chance she'll get. She might be able to learn something about this country… she might be able to learn to survive on her own, and if she saved up enough, she could escape this miserable seaside town and take her brother to a more merciful climate. She looked up, at Ma'am smirking face, and decided that the best thing she could do for herself and her brother was accept.

Ma'am produced a small document, with not so much as a paragraph of disclaimers, and nudged Raine to sign at the bottom, waving a quill in front of her face. With a shrug and a tinge of hope, Raine signed away the next three years of her life.

*

Later that night, Raine walked down to the harbor, bundled in layers of wool, and forced herself to look out onto the raging dark water. She watched the foaming mouths of waves lap at the city's barricades, as if trying to wear it down, to drag the rocks back into the water from which they most likely came. _One day,_ Raine thought, _this city will crumble into the sea. And I will still be alive, hundreds, maybe even thousands of years from now. I will be there to witness history being written._

The loneliness of an inevitably long life hit her in that moment. She supposed she could just die early, but she knew she couldn't die before Genis did. She imagined a child like him could keep her busy well into her hundreds.

She thought of the tiny arrowhead, sitting snugly in her pack back at the Sea Witch. It may have survived ages longer than Raine ever would. It was admirable in a way, that it could wait silently, for millennia, just surviving. Raine could take a lesson from that arrowhead. She could start now, start her new life, forget the old one that only made each day unbearably painful.

"We have a new life here, Genis," she whispered quietly to the raging ocean, not entirely confident that it would be better than her old one. "Perhaps we will be able to live with humans. Maybe they'll even like us." She smiled, but she knew she was being a little too naive. If she was going to raise Genis properly, she'd have to grow up fast. She'd have to let go of the childhood that held her back, made her weak, reminded her that she was lesser than those around her.

She remembered one evening, so unlike this dark, stormy one, she had been playing with the other children, by the river. The golden sun kissed the treetops, and the leaves whispered secrets high above her, secrets the other kids seemed to be able to hear, but not her.

When she had dropped the ball about the hundredth time that afternoon, the other children took it back from her. "She doesn't even know the rules to the game," one child said, disappointed.

Of course she didn't. The rules took years to learn. She had been here for an afternoon.

One kicked a stone into the water, frowning. "She's too young. She's not smart enough to follow the game."

The other children were about her size, and looked no older than her. But they were. The malicious slyness in their eyes, their honed skills, their elegance, their wide, curved ears and quickness, all of it reminded Raine that she was trying to keep up to children who had decades of experience on her.

"I have a baby brother older than she is!" one child laughed.

It was her human blood that had made her sprout so fast. And she knew that it would probably shorten her life considerably compared to her elven playmates. But it wasn't her fault.

It had never been her fault.

Had it?

A drop of rain landed on her cheek, forcing her to open her eyes and stare at the gathering winter storm. It seemed to swallow all light, even the yellowed reflections of the city. Raine knew the darkness out there was endless. It was a perfect place to lose something, something not easily lost, like a day long ago when she first realized that she was inferior to all those around her.

_But it's only a memory. And memories cannot hurt me._

She gathered that painful afternoon in her head, twisting the images of the elfin children, the whispering trees, that lumpy deer-skin ball, into a whorled smudge. She pushed it to the edge of her mind, and let it out, like the release of a deep breath. She looked far out into the cloudy horizon, and let the memory float into the darkness, into the hungry sea.


	5. Schooldays

Raine pulled her cap closer over her eyes, trying to keep out the glowing autumn sunset. Soon, the sky would darken and the rains would begin, and she would have to don a hood and cape instead of this patchy shoeshiner's hat. She didn't look forward to winter, she never did, but there wasn't much today that could dampen her mood.

She trotted back toward the Sea Witch, cradling the leather-bound notebook she had received for her birthday a few months ago. She felt a little badly about how fast it was filling up—Etta and a few other women had saved up for weeks to get her this present, so obviously they had meant for it to last a long time. Evidently they had no idea the rate at which Raine was speeding through classes. Every day, for a few hours at least, she would sit outside the academy, disguised in rags as a poor boy, hair stuffed up into her cap, taking notes. This nameless boy that sat outside the window had become such an expected phenomenon that the students or any passers-by didn't think much about him. Except for a few preteen schoolgirls who periodically left Raine shyly-written love notes before running back off to their friends, laughing nervously, no one seemed to notice her.

The lecturer, the one with the animated style, would occasionally glance out the window and catch her eye, nodding and shooting her a conspiratorial smile. At these moments her heart would flutter, but she didn't know if it was because she feared he would know there was a half-breed lurking outside his window, or if it was because she was excited to be acknowledged in an academic setting. Either way, she grew quite used to his glances and smiles, his motions and gestures, that she felt like she was finally in the classroom with the rest of the students. When he opened his mouth she swore she could almost hear his voice. As the seasons wore on she watched him grow a beard, shave it and grow it again, she watched the members of his class grow and change and graduate, occasionally drop out—she watched them take tests and receive their grades, she watched the relief or horror or indifference on their faces when their marks were revealed.

Eventually, Raine, like the other students, learned what she had to learn and was ready to move on. But unlike them, she had nowhere to move on to. She didn't know if there was a more advanced classroom with a convenient window like this one. She made her rounds of the school, trying to find a suitable class, trying to peer through the higher-story windows. She couldn't find an easily accessible class that wasn't far too basic for her. She wondered if she could build a ladder or platform or some device that would let her hang from the rooftop over the side of the building in case there were better classes going on at the top. But she knew that her ability to attend classes at all was contingent on being able to pass unnoticed.

She just about lost hope in moving on with her studies when the librarian caught up to her. She'd been sneaking around the back courtyard, looking for any window through which she could suck out knowledge, when the old scholar limped by so quietly and swiftly that Raine barely realized she wasn't alone. She bolted, thinking that she would be punished for trespassing, but as soon as she emerged into the bright sun of Palmacosta's main square, she discovered that she had something unfamiliar in her pocket.

What she pulled out was neatly folded note, and between the creases of paper, a worn-out card. Raine skimmed the note, frowning.

_Looks like this old biddy lost her library card. Hopefully someone who shares an appreciation for literature will find it and use it wisely._

Raine looked the little card over. Between torn, ancient edges, lay the image of a young woman that certainly wasn't her. Beside that, scrawled in faded ink, was a name that also didn't belong to her.

But now the card did. And with it, she could access the school's library without being kicked out. She looked at the woman on the card, at her sly features, and figured that if she tried hard enough, she might be able to pass off as her.

Ma'am had said explicitly never to enter the actual building. Having an employee trespass on government property would surely be the excuse the governor-general needed to shut down the Sea Witch completely.

But now Raine wouldn't be trespassing, technically. She had no excuse to stay out of the library now. She would no longer have to live off the meager literary diet that Ma'am so generously fed her. She could read whatever she wanted, as much as she wanted. And now that she had found a secret ally in the old librarian, she might be able to convince the school to let her enroll.

She practically skipped back to the Sea Witch that day, notebook tucked under her arm. When she approached the wide doors of the building, she spied a few women smoking out front, discussing what mattered most in life.

"I'm telling you, it comes from the sea."

"It comes from the mountains, you dolt, that's why there's snow up there in the fall."

When they spied Raine trotting by with her notes and tweed cap, they stopped her.

"You, girl," one said, smiling. "You're smart. So tell us, where does winter come from, the mountains or the sea?"

Raine twitched her nose, thinking. "The sea," she said, quickly enough that neither of the women would doubt her answer. She didn't think she had enough time to explain planetary axial tilts to these ladies before her shift began.

Ultimately the women agreed that the source of winter didn't matter. The real point was that the season was the best for business. It was when beds were coldest, after all.

When Ranie entered the shadowy building, she saw Genis toddling around in the lobby, counting by fives at the top of his lungs. When he saw Raine he turned toward her, arms outstretched, and screamed, "Wa!"

"Hey there, little genius," Raine smiled, bending to one knee as her little brother came running toward her, legs still unsteady with the newness of use. He was getting better at running and balancing, and very recently he'd learned to jump, so Etta had been worried he would find his way up to the balcony and kill himself somehow.

Raine lifted him and he laughed, wiggling. She knew her brother was smarter than that. But you could never be sure about the intelligence of toddlers. Some of the children the ladies had birthed in the course of their careers were dumb as goats.

Etta came stumbling after active little Genis, Candle in tow, although at this point in his life his name was up for some serious debate. He had survived enough winters to get himself a real name, but Etta was paranoid as all get-out, fretting over his every sneeze. "This year will be a plague year, for sure," she would say, every year. So far there had only been small outbreaks of the flu that relieved Palmacosta of some of the burden of its elderly.

"Oh, good," Etta smiled when she saw Raine was back. "Genis will behave if you're around."

"Doubtful."

"Well, at least when you're here he's mostly your responsibility," she said. She sighed, a bit fraught. "Forgive my bedraggled look, dear, I just woke up. These two have apparently been making some trouble all morning."

Raine looked Genis in the bright, lively eyes. "Have you been bad?" she asked.

He shook his head, grinning.

"We'd better get you dressed, love," Etta sighed. Raine followed her across the lobby, carrying a squirming Genis. They approached the dressing room, where the women ate their afternoon breakfast and got themselves ready for the night. A few of them sat around, primping, talking, wolfing down some last-minute snacks. Raine and Etta made their way to the back, where Raine set Genis on the floor and sat herself down. Etta loosened her silver hair from her shoeshiner's cap and began to brush it.

"It's grown so much since I met you," she said, smiling. As part of her deal with Ma'am, Raine had not been allowed to cut her hair. She thought it might be because it was an aesthetic selling point—she had never seen anyone else with the same silver-blue hair as hers, besides Genis, and he wasn't up for display. She'd been told by some of the other women that the way it glinted gold in the torchlight made her look like some sort of fairy.

Etta styled it as usual, braiding the long strands of what used to be Raine's bangs and tying them behind her head, making sure just enough fell in front of her slightly pointed ears. Etta moved on to Raine's cosmetics, rouging her cheeks and applying just the right amount of eyeshadow. She had tried to teach Raine to do it herself, but every time the girl attempted to paint herself up she'd come out looking like a disaster. Makeup was apparently another thing that Raine had to add to the list of her feminine incapabilities.

Etta managed it fine, though. Every day Raine would talk to Genis while Etta painted her face. "What did you learn today?" she would ask.

"I dunno."

"Do you remember what you ate today?"

Genis smiled. "I dunno."

"Did you know you're an impudent little squirrel?" she asked.

"I dunno."

"Do you know what 'impudent' means?"

"It means I'm brilliant," Genis replied, grinning.

If Raine didn't have a brush hovering precariously at her eye she would've stood up and shaken some sense into him. Instead she gave him a nudge with her foot, which sent him dashing away, hiding behind a curtain and smiling mischievously at her.

"All done," Etta said. "Time for your dress."

Raine rolled her eyes. Of all the careers she had dreamed of, model had not been one of them. But here she was, a white, gold-trimmed robe flowing from her shoulders like mist. It was light and comfortable, but showed more than Raine's normal modesty would allow. But it was required of her, even if it offered little warmth and less concealment.

It had taken a few tries for her to get a costume that Ma'am had liked. They had dressed her up as a country milkmaid, a schoolgirl, an urchin, but every time Raine emerged from the dressing room, red-faced and shy, Ma'am would shake her head and send her back in, demanding a better look.

While Raine was swept in and out of the changing room, switching costumes almost as fast as Ma'am could reject them, the middle-aged proprietress had tried to explain her function to her.

"Just look nice, and try not to open your sassy mouth," she told her, eyeing her newest getup, some sort of Church of Martel outfit. She waved that suit away, but kept talking to Raine though the dressing room curtains. "If anyone comes up to you and tries to talk to you, for gods' sake, be polite. One of the other girls will come distract whoever it is. You're not available, you get it? You're just a preview."

"I understand," Raine said, but she didn't, not really.

"Just remember to not break character. The you in here and the real you are two separate people, get it?"

"It's how you survive," whispered the girl pinning up Raine's newest dress.

"Um…" Raine started. If she didn't really have to talk to anyone, then maybe… "Can I read?"

"What?" Ma'am choked.

"Can I read a book while I sit around?" Raine asked again, clearer this time, thinking that perhaps Ma'am hadn't heard.

"That's absurd, you can't…. wait. You're a goddamn genius, girl."

_That's what my mother used to tell me,_ Raine thought, trying to get herself comfortable in her newest clothes.

"That's absolutely perfect," Ma'am continued, not even bothering to look Raine over when she emerged from the dressing room. "Yes, we'll drape a robe over you like an acolyte of the Sylvarant Dynasty, oh yes… Caught reading in her negligee, it's perfect! Exotic, exciting, yet perfectly innocent. Yes, yes you can read a book."

She was dragged back into the dressing room and clothed, for the first time, in the diaphanous nightgown she would wear nearly every night from then on. When she emerged, embarrassed, shivering and somewhat uncomfortable, she couldn't help but smile a little. Apparently she could get paid to just sit there and read.

The first night she worked, however, she barely managed a word.

Within the hour, when she plopped herself up in the nearest windowsill with an elementary calculus textbook she had managed to salvage from some storage room or another, Ma'am came scrambling up to her, arms waving.

"No, no, no, no, _no_!" she hissed, as the torches were lit and the doors opened. "You can't read that unaesthetic thing. Innocent girls don't read textbooks, they read novels and poetry! Get yourself a—" she turned around and barked at one of the other girls, "Dig up something appropriate for her, pronto." The girl dashed off while Ma'am wrestled Raine's book from her. She never saw it again.

The girl returned with a tattered old book, and handed it to Ma'am. She looked it over and sighed. "This'll have to do until we get something better." She passed it off to Raine.

" _Soldier Poets of the Kharlan War_ ," she read. It didn't seem that bad. She would've preferred something a little heavier, but she didn't know that much about ancient literature, so she figured it would be fine.

She sat herself back down and skimmed the contents, looking at the titles of the tragedies, romances and heroes' aristeias. To her surprise, the script of this book was much closer to the alphabet back home, and it made her feel a little homesick. She didn't have much time to immerse herself in the poetry, however, because soon after she started, the foyer began to fill with ladies and strangers alike.

It wasn't five minutes until someone came up to her and tried to chat her up, laying his hand in her lap and running a finger over the silky robe. Raine clenched one fist and trembled slightly, wondering what to do, until another girl walked up and grabbed his upper arm, falling onto him and leading him away with a laugh. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Raine was all right, then took him off to the card table, where wine was waiting.

Another came and tried to touch her knees, another sat down across from her and tried to convince her to sit on his lap. For every man that the other girls wrestled away, two more took his place, asking questions, reaching out, offering her something to drink. It happened enough that at the end of the first night Raine couldn't sleep. She could feel fingers like spiders crawling up and down her arms, tickling her knees. She could still her the soft, wine-sweet breath of customers whispering in her ear.

What are you reading, darling?

Where are you from?

You look a little fresh for Sea Witch meat.

You're beautiful.

After many months of this, when she had read _Soldier Poets of the Kharlan War_ over a hundred times, she evolved the grace and foresight to slip away before a hand laid itself on her shoulder, to deflect a greeting before it came. She found an elevated niche in a rounded window halfway up the wall, where she could curl up without too many hands making their way up after her.

Ma'am thought it was a splendid idea to lift her up above the crowd a little, so when Raine's presence drew enough money in, she had a small platform erected, carved in marble and lined with houseplants, sporting a love seat where Raine could prop open her book and stretch out to display what Ma'am referred to as "the goods."

_Small,_ Raine would say to herself at the beginning of every shift. _Small and sharp and unnoticeable, unbreakable, a piece of history. A little arrowhead._ If she said this to herself enough times, sometimes no one would try to talk to her at all, and she could read in peace, drowning out the laughter and music and conversation around her. She could forget about the awkward exchanges and the slowly dawning realization that she had bagged herself a job in a whorehouse. She could forget about Genis, her mother, her father, herself, everything, if she was only buried deep enough in a book.

Ma'am managed to build her a reputation. Word went around that she was the daughter of someone important, or the relative of some lord of a faraway prefecture, sent here in disguise for her own safety. Another story was that she was the proprietor's wealthy niece, going to school here for a while. A rather absurd story circulated that she was actually an angel of Martel, fallen to earth for some sin or another. Plenty of tales abounded: she was a deaf-mute princess, she was a shamed acolyte, she was the ex-paramour of the half-elf who ran the nearest ranch… all of them false, all of them ridiculous, but all of them carefully crafted to paint Raine in only the most inaccessible light. As far as the Sea Witch was concerned, she was virtually untouchable, and that brought in plenty of spectators, just as Ma'am had planned.

Raine figured it was a better job than the what the rest of the women had, but still, some nights she couldn't go to sleep for fear of a wandering hand or an inquisitive voice, asking her if she could come down from that pedestal and give a man a good time. Sometimes she would lie awake, watching Genis sleep peacefully beside her, and wonder if one day he would grow up to be the kind of man who would frequent places like this. If he would be the kind of man who would touch a girl's knees without permission, grab the hem of a her dress if only to scare her a little, or who would try to coax her into drinking with him with the hopes that after enough wine she wouldn't be able to resist him.

_I won't let him turn out like that_ , she told herself. But the more people she met at the Sea Witch, the more she was convinced that degeneracy was inescapable and universal. Desians, humans... they were all twisted in their own ways, and often found comradeship in that very deviance. In fact, the only time she had seen Desians and the townspeople get along was in the Sea Witch, sharing in the same bad taste.

Raine did not talk to them. She avoided all of them, and eventually she adapted to the trauma and turmoil of Palmacostan nightlife. When her shift ended in the wee hours of the morning, if she hadn't already fallen asleep on her love seat, one of the girls would come to get her and bring her back to the safety of her own tiny, itchy bed, where Genis would be sleeping. She would lie down next to him and listen to his tiny lungs push air in and out, his little mouth contorted in a dream-expression, and she would often be able to fall asleep to the rhythm of his quiet snoring.

*

The morning after she had received her student card, Raine sat in the bath with some of the other women. At the week's end they would boil some water and turn bathing into a social gathering, where they could gossip and relax and check one another for bruises or bumps. Raine would be sure to heal any of Etta's injuries prior to this event so her coworkers wouldn't worry too much about her. Both of them thought it best to keep Raine's talent a secret, and in return for the medical assistance, Etta would brush out Raine's hair and wash it for her.

"You'd better let her wash herself every once in a while," one of the women joked. "She'll grow up not knowing how to do anything."

"Oh, piss off, Grace," Etta shot back, smiling, before whispering to Raine, "she's just jealous because you get pampered."

Raine didn't particularly enjoy social bathing; for one thing, it didn't allow her to sit in the bath for hours and get through an entire book. But she appreciated the camaraderie it fostered between her and the other women, and Genis seemed to like it. He would often sit on the side of the pool and splash at Candle.

"Why is water wet?" he asked.

"That's a good question, Genis," Raine answered, as Etta brushed out her hair. "The concept of wet is just a construction that we have designed to describe the feeling of liquids on skin, such as water. Water is only wet because we say it is. I read it somewhere."

"You mean, like… the sky is only blue because we made blue up?" he asked.

"Yes. Come to think of it, any measurement we make of anything is bound to be arbitrarily defined—"

"You need to stop filling his head with that nonsense, girl," Etta said, gently tugging a lock of Raine's hair.

Raine sat thinking for a few minutes, watching the water curl up against the edge of the bath. "I got a library card," she said.

"What? Who gave you one of those?"

"The librarian."

"At the school?"

"Yes."

"Well, don't let Ma'am find out. She'll throw a fit if she saw you wandering around the more respectable institutions. That's a big fight with the governor-general just waiting to happen."

"I know, I'll be careful."

"Still… I'm glad. It seems Ma'am hasn't given you very good books. She's stingy; she always was. You're too smart to survive on the dreck she gives you. Those romance novels and such. As if any of us would know about romance." She let out a joyless laugh.

Since Raine didn't have to work for another six or so hours, Etta dried her off and sent her out into the afternoon light, telling her to go use that card and have fun with it. She added that Raine had better be back by the time her work began, or Ma'am would have her head.

So instead of hanging outside the school, Raine mustered up the courage to enter it. That day, she sat reading for hours, then reappeared the next day, then the next. Every time she went back she could check a book or two off her list. She moved from mathematics to alchemy to physics to literature, never spending too much time in one section, never too little. The librarian, silent this whole time, sat in the corner when she was present at all, apparently satisfied with being a non-entity, or an observer at best. Occasionally Raine would shoot her a thankful glance, but she was a master of covertness, and never met her gaze. Every once in a while, what Raine came to think of as her old teacher, that bearded lecturer she had been so fond of, would come in, sometimes with his students, sometimes without. Every time, he would look over at Raine and smile. She knew he recognized her, but he didn't seem to mind that she, a non-student, was using the school's facilities.

Today, he was not here. Raine seemed to be alone in the library, so she sat herself down by a window and watched the winter showers barrel down on the blue glass. She stared out the window at the cloudy sky for a few minutes before immersing herself in the history of a faraway region.

Halfway through the book she stopped to smile. The chapter she had stumbled upon bore the title: "The Witches of Asgard." Raine read the next section carefully, wishing that her card cleared her to actually remove books from the library, instead of just granting her access. She wanted to show this passage to Etta.

_The Witches of Asgard were rumored to be a secretive cabal of powerful women, allegedly protectors of the summon spirit Sylph, from the late Pre-Dynastic era. The Witches are so shrouded in secrecy and preceded by so many tall tales that one has to wonder whether they existed at all…_

Beside the text was a watercolor illustration of two women lifting their hands to the white sun. Raine thought Etta would absolutely love to know that the witch clan her sisters had told her about, the clandestine group she so admired, was historically plausible, and that maybe, just maybe, they were still out there, deep under the ruins of Asgard, hidden and safe.

Raine thought of the perfect gift for Etta in exchange for the leather notebook she had received months ago. She woke up early and wandered into the shopping district before anyone could notice she was gone. She bought some fancy stationery with her remaining pocket money, procured herself a quill and ink, and practiced her calligraphy. If she could find a cheap bookbinder in town, this might just make the perfect present, as a thank-you for all the hard work Etta had put in just to keep Raine and Genis alive. If Raine did it right, this might make her forget about all the bruises and heartaches and fear that working in that abhorrent place brought her. One dark afternoon, Raine sat herself down in the library, cracked her knuckles, and began the painstaking task of copying the passage, word-for-word, from the ancient text.


	6. Letters and Numbers

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. An impossibly cold liquid seeped through her skin and into her veins, and she struggled vainly against it, swinging her arms, her legs, crying out for any help. Salt water splashed down her throat, choking her, but she twisted upward, toward the surface, toward what she could tell was a dark, cloudy sky.

She swam through the expansive black cold, telling herself to kick, just kick up, and she would reach air eventually. Her sight was blurry, her lungs felt like they were about to burst, her skin was wet and freezing and hurting. When she broke the stormy surface, she looked up to the sky, only to realize in horror that what she thought were clouds was only more water, falling toward her. She had no time to breathe before it hit her and drove her back under, twisting her around and beating her down, more like hail than water. She never gave up the struggle, not until she woke up sweat-drenched and panting.

She looked around and found herself in her tiny room in the Sea Witch. She felt Genis stir beside her, roused by her fretful sleep. He reached out and closed a hand around two of her fingers, whispering, "You made a dream."

"I _had_ a dream, Genis. Yes. It was a bad one. Scary." She lay back down, shivering from her cold sweat, and drew Genis closer to her.

"What did you dream?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

He lay still for a while, evidently turning her words over in his head. "Nothing is scary."

Raine narrowed her eyes in the blackness. She didn't know if he was bragging that he wasn't afraid of anything, or if somehow, her nightmare had induced a brutal realization in him. She wondered if this was the first time he'd seriously considered the concept of nothingness. Annihilation, mindlessness, lack of being. It _was_ scary, Raine admitted to herself, because it was impossible to understand.

"Now I can't sleep," Genis whispered. "It's cold."

"I know," Raine replied. "But I'm here. I'll keep you warm."

"I can't…" Genis was crying now. "It's cold, I want a bath, I want a hot bath."

"The sun isn't up yet," Raine said. "Some of the other women will still be working. We can't go outside." She hugged him closer, hoping that she could manage to warm him up. "You know what we do when our hands are cold?" she whispered to him as he choked on his tears. "We rub them together, like this. It'll warm them up because we turn our energy into friction, which generates heat."

"I can't see," Genis sniffed, but he wasn't bawling anymore. "Can we light the lamp?"

"All right."

Raine held him in the dim light as he cried and shivered and eventually quieted, snoring slightly. After a while, Raine still couldn't sleep, so when the early light of the sun peeked through her window, she set her little brother down on the pillow and got up, brushing herself off and donning her usual disguise. Since the weather was still chilly, she threw a heavy coat around herself. She reached under her bed and pulled out a small stack of papers, carefully stowed in order and tied with twine. She tucked them into her coat and left the room, making sure Genis was asleep before she went.

She made her way down the empty grey streets, unusually silent for this time of morning. Normally by this time townspeople would be setting up shop, hurrying past one another, stopping to chat or chase off a homeless dog. Raine swept down a shadowy alley, to a run-down old shop with a rapidly decaying sign that read "PrinterBookbinderCobbler."

She snuck through the door and into the dusty shop. The old man behind the counter turned around and frowned. "Can I help you, young sir?" he asked.

"Yes. Please bind this for me. I don't have much. Tell me if it's enough." She handed over her stack of papers and a few bronze coins.

"Yeah, this'll cover it, I guess." The old man didn't seem too enthused, but business was business and business was apparently slow.

"Where is everyone this morning?" Raine asked.

"You didn't hear? There's some big fight's gonna go down between here and the ranch. The governor-general took some of his men and a volunteer army to take down the ranch for good."

Raine grit her teeth. This was the first time she'd heard of it. "Really?"

"It's not gonna work though. No siree." He stuffed her papers under the counter. "They're all gonna die. Fools. Some people are closing up shop for solidarity or something. Not me. I know what's good for me. When all them folks get slaughtered out there the first thing that's gonna happen is the Desians are gonna come in and give what for to the people who showed any support. Ain't gonna be me. I'm too young to die." He smirked soullessly. "You can come pick this up tomorrow. The whole rumpus will be over by then."

Raine forced herself to bow. "Thank you." She left the store languidly, trying to ignore the ominous silence. She didn't want to admit it, but the cantankerous old shopkeeper was right; the townspeople of Palmacosta didn't stand a chance against the well-armed, well-trained army of Desians. The city had been under the heel of the ranch for decades, and although Raine could understand the desire to break from the chains of a more powerful race, she was relatively sure of the negative outcome. Just like the uprisings of half-elves in her homeland, racial conflicts like this only ever ended one way. Even if Palmacosta secured a momentary victory, autonomy would be fleeting, nominal at best. These Desians, like humans back home, were powerful and all too willing to use that power to secure their own ends. Raine couldn't help but smile cynically. No matter where she was, even with prejudice reversed, she seemed to find herself on the side of the oppressed.

Raine entered the marble building she had over the last few years forced herself to call home. It was now past noon, and some of the more matutinally-inclined women were waking up and wandering the halls, arms full of laundry, chatting or looking for breakfast. Etta, who had had a mercifully quick night last night, emerged from her room and greeted Raine, dragging Candle, who in turn dragged Genis. Raine reached down and picked her little brother up, grunting under his weight.

"Did you hear the news?" she asked. "The governor-general has incited an uprising."

"Oh, dear. Another one." Etta sighed, rubbing one eye. "Well, as long as you stay inside, you'll be fine."

Raine tilted her head, thinking. Of course the Sea Witch would be the business to suffer least. If there was any place that both humans and half-elves could get along, it was here, drowned in wine and song, enjoying the more primal comforts of life. It was where they could admit that both races had at least debauchery in common.

"I suppose the Sea Witch _is_ a beacon of neutrality," she admitted.

"They do tend to ignore it. The governor-general ignores us because he likes to pretend we don't exist. The Desians ignore us because they don't want to admit that they enjoy human company when their boss isn't looking." The laugh Etta let out turned into a cough, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

"Are you getting sick?" Raine asked.

"Oh, dear. I knew this would be a plague year," Etta stammered between coughs, but Raine couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. Eventually, when she stopped coughing, she said, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"All right," Raine yawned. "Come wake me up before work. I'll give you a cough suppressant then." She set Genis down, and he ran after Etta. She turned and walked to her tiny room, lay down on her bed, but was afraid to go to sleep in case the ocean swelled up and swallowed her again. She lay awake and stared at the ceiling until the sun set red, and Etta entered to take her to work.

She followed her downstairs into the dressing rooms. The atmosphere was more relaxed than usual, and some of the women didn't even bother putting on their makeup. As Etta draped her light vestments over her shoulders, Raine picked up her latest prop, a novel about a failed romance in glorious days of the Sylvarant Dynasty. It wasn't a genre Raine usually enjoyed, but of all the books that Ma'am approved for her, it wasn't the worst. Well-written, poetic, a little trite, but it had a likable heroine who seemed realistic enough. She hadn't yet investigated if the main character was based on a real person or not.

Raine nearly got through the book that night. Business was slow, the place was quiet, the women relaxed, spending more time amongst themselves rather than trying to entertain the few guests that wandered guiltily in. Most of the citizens of Palmacosta were either halfway to the ranch with their makeshift weaponry, or else hiding in their homes, anticipating the inevitable Desian raid. Raine thought it strange that it was so quiet at the Sea Witch when there was such upheaval just a little outside of town. Still, of all her nights working in that strange place, it was one of the better ones.

The next morning, as Raine left to retrieve the newly bound article, the city was as quiet as before. She wondered what had happened, but she didn't take the time to investigate. She just made her way down the silent streets and into the bookbinder's shop, where she picked up her present for Etta.

She pulled it over the counter, running a hand across the leather cover, a little ill-fitting but still quite pretty. She couldn't help but smile as she opened it and read her own handwriting, so painstakingly drawn. She wondered if she would make a good printer, or better yet, author. Maybe she could write textbooks someday.

"What're you grinnin' for?" the old man barked. "You wanna get outta here and go home, before the Desians get here."

"They're coming? How do you know?" Raine asked.

"Sent word ahead by messenger. The whole operation was a disaster, just as I expected. Maybe next time they'll listen to reason, if there is a next time." He shook his head. "Idiots."

Raine pursed her lips and exited the store, tucking her treasure under her arm. She had hoped to avoid the moment when the decimated army returned, but just as she was crossing the square, the gate opened and in came the wounded, the surrendered, carrying the dead on their shoulders and in makeshift stretchers. Raine couldn't help but stop and watch the wretched parade of dead and dying, herded mercilessly by the Desian victors. Other townspeople, impelled by curiosity or sorrow or fear, emerged from their homes to watch the procession, crying among themselves or reaching out to wounded loved ones.

Raine saw the blood-soaked victims of Desian ruthlessness and wondered if any of them would've lived if she had been there. Would she have been able to save someone, anyone at all? Could she heal such terrible wounds, and on so many? She gripped the leather-bound article tighter to her chest.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a familiar face in the devastated march. He was older than she remembered, eyes sunken, skin white, laid out limply on a stretcher. His hair was matted with blood, his mouth hung open, and it took Raine a second to realize that he was dead.

Out of the gathering crowd came a screeching, flailing girl, brown hair tied back, dressed in a ragged frock. She nearly threw herself onto the stretcher, wrapping her hands around her dead father's neck, begging him to return to her. The two men carrying the stretcher urged her to calm down, in case the Desians noticed the commotion. She refused, screaming, crying, looking around for help.

For a second, her eyes met Raine's. Raine could read the terror, the pain in Chocolat's gaze, and she almost walked out to her, almost spread her arms and comforted her. Maybe she would remember her, maybe she would care, maybe Raine could help her.

But there was no recognition in Chocolat's eyes, only overwhelming sorrow. Her eyes passed over Raine like they would pass over a stranger, and when she realized that the crowd was going to be of no help to her, she lowered her head again on her father's chest and sobbed.

With a sickening jolt Raine realized that she had never known his name. He had shown her such kindness, and she hadn't even bothered to remember his name. Somehow, this struck her as a profound failure, and suddenly she found that she couldn't stand staring at this harrowing scene. She made her way through the crowd, heart sinking, as the Desian victors shouted over the gathering mob. They told them to back off, to go home, to be thankful for the mercy their superiors had shown by allowing the survivors to bury their dead. Raine slipped away, covering her book, covering her face, until she reached the Sea Witch.

She entered through the back door, took off her coat, shook the raindrops off it and hung it up. She made her way upstairs, holding the book to her chest, wondering if Etta was up. She went up to her room, knocked once, twice, and when she heard Candle yell at her to come in, she opened the door.

Etta sat on her bed, half-dressed, and smiled when Raine walked in. "You're up early," she said.

"There's something going on in the square." Raine didn't mention more than that.

"Oh… don't worry about that, dear. It happens every few years. Some uprising gets put down, a new governor-general is instituted, some new treaties are made, and everything stays the same. So don't worry your pretty head about it. As long as the Sea Witch stays open, and as long as we can avoid the plague for another year, we're golden."

Raine smiled, comforted a little by Etta's nonchalance. She tried to forget about the scene in the square, and held out her gift. "This is for you."

"What is it?" Etta asked, reaching for it.

"It's a thank-you present," Raine started. "For everything. For everything you've done, for Genis and me."

Etta opened the little book, examining its cover, its painstakingly, perfectly executed writing, the high-quality pages, the colored ink swirling around lavish initials. "This… did you do this yourself?"

"Yes," Raine said proudly. It had taken a long time, and more wasted pages than she'd like to count, but after months of work she had finally finished it to her own satisfaction.

"This is… wonderful. It's beautiful. But…"

Raine tensed. She began to worry that she had failed miserably, that she had copied poorly, that she had found the wrong article, that her handwriting was awful, that the binding was off, that her intellect and judgment had failed her, that Etta didn't like it. "B-but?" she stammered.

"I can't read."

"Oh." Raine managed a blank stare for a few seconds, before she burst into tears. She covered her face and dashed out of the room, down the hall, down the stairs. She didn't know if she was crying out of shock, surprise, or disappointment. How could she not have known? How could she have lived with Etta this whole time without realizing this crucial fact? How stupid could she be?

She burst into her room, slamming the door behind her. Genis sat up in her bed, yawning, as she sat down beside him, burying her face in her hands.

Genis, sensitive but somewhat clueless, scooted up to her and wrapped his hands around her waist. "Stop crying," he said. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm an idiot, Genis," Raine whispered. "Gods, I'm so stupid." She looked down at him, at his wide, bright eyes glinting blue. "Little brother, when you grow up, you can be whatever you want, but never, ever be an idiot."

He didn't answer. She wondered if he understood.

Raine lay back down on the bed, Genis still firmly attached to her middle. She looked at the ceiling, remembering all those papers, all those love letters and poems that Etta had given her. She had said she had no use for them, but Raine assumed she had read them and found them terrible, unworthy even of ridicule. Raine hadn't known; if she had, she doubted she would've spent all those painstaking hours copying that article for her. She would've given Etta something useful, something she could actually appreciate.

Raine curled up, hugging Genis, thinking of all those wasted days, all the time and energy she spent copying a passage, throwing it out, copying it again, of the spilled ink and the ripped paper, the stress of thinking she'd never get it done. She sighed.

Perhaps she was not meant to live in a world where necessity overrode intellectual leisure. Maybe she should really learn to be a good farm girl, a good prostitute, a fisherwoman, someone who rolls in dirt and knows the seasons, who worked with her hands… This world of lowly hardship had no use for the kind of people who shut themselves up with books all day, it had no room for them. After all, reading was not a survival skill. And that's what everyone around Raine did—they survived. Etta, Chocolat, all the women at the Sea Witch, the bookbinder, the farmers and merchants in the streets, the hungry dogs, the homeless children… Raine had barely stayed alive by clinging to the underbelly of people who were more tenacious than she was, who had applicable skills, who could cook and fix things and drive a wagon. How could Raine be so deluded as to ascribe importance to things like reading, when here in the lower rungs of society, it was a skill so useless it could hardly be described as a skill at all?

She had few talents, and all of them uselessly academic. She could not clean, she couldn't cook or run fast or milk a cow, she certainly couldn't use charm to get what she needed. She only had the most rudimentary of healing skills and couldn't even use offensive magic. She couldn't fight. She could barely swim. She didn't know how match her clothes or do her makeup or polish shoes. And she certainly couldn't raise a child.

She looked down at Genis, who was now content with snuggling against her chest, probably just happy that she had stopped crying. He didn't deserve her—he deserved someone with more practical knowledge, someone useful, someone who could be a proper mother, who could cook for him and clean up after him and send him to school with a teacher who had social skills far surpassing Raine's… where he could make friends the way Raine never did, and live normally.

No child deserved to grow up in a place like the Sea Witch, especially not being raised by a girl like Raine. She would never be able to replace his mother or father… gods… how could she have not known Etta couldn't read?

Her mind darted around, her thoughts flitting from self-accusations to despair, from self-pity to hopeless resolve. The problems and worries that she had harbored for so long, apparently bottled inside her mind, came spilling out, all at once, in an agonizing, confusing cascade.

Etta couldn't read.

Chocolat didn't remember her.

Her parents were dead  
She never knew the man's name  
Her parents abandoned her  
she wasn't wanted  
she was stupid  
her mother didn't love her  
she was terrified  
memories of the ocean  
terrified  
half-blood  
inferior  
lost

"Raine? Can I come in?"

Etta's voice drew Raine's mind away from the overwhelming deluge of poisonous thoughts, and she sat up. Without waiting for an answer, Etta walked in. Raine noticed that she didn't have the gift. Etta sat down on the side of the bed, and Genis, pleased with the company, crawled over to her and sat in her lap.

She hugged him and reached out a hand to Raine, grabbing her shoulder and bringing her too into the safety of her arms.

"Raine…" she said. "I just want you to know that I love your gift. Even if I can't read it now, I will read it someday, when I learn. Until then I will treasure it with all my heart."

Rain couldn't help but stain the sheets with a few tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Raine. Both me and Candle will learn to read, and then we'll read it together."

Raine wiped her eyes. "Maybe I can help. Not to brag, but I'm an excellent reader." She forced a weak smile.

"Everyone knows that, dear." Etta planted a kiss on her forehead. "So tell me, is it a story?"

"Sort of. It's an article I found, about that group of witches you would always talk about."

Etta grinned. "I thought it was all made up."

Raine shook her head. "No. There may have been some of them… in pre-dynastic Asgard. They guarded the shrines for Sylph—"

"Don't tell me too much, or I won't even have to read it."

Raine smiled. "Okay. I won't spoil it for you. But you have to promise that you'll learn to read. Let me help you."

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much." Etta sighed. "But, unfortunately for now, we have work to do. Our shift begins in an hour."

That night, like the last one, was quiet. Raine figured that the usual suspects were either mourning, dead, or had other, more important things to do than waste time out on the town. Raine was still relieved to have another night of peace and quiet, even if it came at the cost of a failed rebellion.

That night ended eventually, as they all did, but when Raine crawled into bed, she couldn't go to sleep. She hadn't been sleeping well lately—dreams of the ocean haunted her. She stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, holding a snoring Genis, trying to banish the painful memories that kept popping up in her head.

She hadn't always been afraid of the water. In fact, one of the only houses her family had ever lived in for more than a month was a small, dilapidated shack at the edge of some costal town, well within the writhing sea's spraying reach. Raine had liked it—she had liked wandering down to the tide pools and collecting mollusks, poking the skins and shells of the half-alien creatures, observing their reactions. Her father went down to the water with her often, telling her which organisms were harmless, which ones would sting, which were tasty and which belonged to what family. He told her about the relationships between the animals, who were cousins, who were distant ancestors, and it seemed to her like the tide pools were some big, dysfunctional family reunion.

She didn't have very long to enjoy her extended family, however.

The tide was in—she remembered that much, because the animals were submerged. She stumbled through the water after her mother, gripping her wet hand, panting, knowing she had forgotten something back at the house but wasn't able to go back for it.

A boat had been waiting. Her father had hidden it in a nearby cove for months, maintaining the motor, making sure the fuel was still viable, just in case they had to make an escape like this one. Raine's parents had been prepared for this eventuality. Raine hadn't.

She had screamed when she saw the men in suits arrive at their door—she knew what they meant. She had given herself away from the start, and it had made their hasty escape panicked and clumsy. She had been so young, she didn't really know what was going on. She only followed her parents, down the beach, wading through the tide pools, into the stormy night, until they reached the cave where the boat waited.

Somehow, Raine fell. She didn't know how or when, but the freezing cold water that overwhelmed her reminded her that she was no longer in the arms of her mother. She was cold and alone, and if she didn't drown out here, those men back there would get her instead. She didn't know which was worse.

She opened her mouth to call for help and seawater rushed inside, suffocating her, pushing its way down her throat and into her writhing stomach. She sank with her mouth open, meaning to scream, but she had no air to fill her lungs. She kept struggling, kept flailing, but the water dragged her down, the cold froze her limbs, she thought she would die there, alone, under the waves, swallowed by darkness…

Raine didn't remember much of what happened after that. She figured she must've lost consciousness, because she remembered waking up on the boat, shivering, wrapped in her parents' spare coats. She hadn't lost her life, but she felt as if she had lost... something else. The sea had planted a seed of unconquerable fear in her, it had taken something from her that she knew she would never get back.

_I will forget about that,_ Raine told herself, hugging Genis closer to her. _If I forget, then I can forget to be afraid…_

She knew she was being too hopeful. Even though the memory could not hurt her by itself, its ally, the omnipresent ocean, raged just outside, flailing white foam in the early hours of the morning. She sat up, gently rolling Genis onto his side. She figured she should stop thinking about the sea for a while; then maybe she'd feel better. She looked around, thinking. Perhaps if she could find something to read… no, better yet, she could find something for Etta to read. Something easy, like a storybook she could work on with Candle. Something with small words, something applicable. Like a grocery list or a children's encyclopedia.

Raine got out of bed, stood up and stretched. It was late enough (or early enough) that most of the women would be asleep, so she might be able to wander the halls and look for reading material unmolested. She knew there were some spare papers lying around the offices and closets… discarded to-do lists, some transaction receipts—Raine thought it would probably be important for Etta to learn her numbers too, if she wanted to count money or keep track of the weeks.

Raine couldn't help but smile a little, thinking of what she might be able to teach Etta. Maybe her skills wouldn't be so useless after all, if she could help spread knowledge… even if it was pitifully basic. She walked down the quiet hall, occasionally stopping to shuffle through some drawers in the nooks and crannies of the place, looking for something simple to read.

She found nothing that satisfied her, so she continued her search, pushing out thoughts of the ocean and replacing them with the desire to find a suitable piece of writing. She thought about how she could incorporate rudimentary math lessons in with the reading ones, or how she could include Genis and Candle in this deal and get them started school early. Genis could already identify his letters, but he still needed help sounding them out, maybe she could find something with lots of monosyllabic words to practice...

She was so consumed with thoughts of her lesson plans she barely noticed that she had ended up at the staircase leading to Ma'am's office. Raine thought for a moment. She might get into some trouble if caught, but Ma'am was one of the few ladies around this establishment who was literate—she would have plenty of discarded lists and letters that Raine could pilfer. She probably had quite a few receipts on hand as well. Raine knew Ma'am would disapprove of her teaching Etta and distracting her from her actual job, so if the old lady was around Raine would have to go somewhere else to search. But if she wasn't…

Raine crept up the stairs, keeping her wits about her, listening for any sound of Ma'am's presence. She heard nothing, saw no movement, so she walked up to the door to find it slightly ajar. Just her luck. Ma'am never left her door open. Raine slowly creaked her way into the dimly lit office, finding herself alone.

She had intended to sift through the garbage can for crumpled documents, but a pristine white sheet on the red desk caught her eye. She crept up to it, circling the desk to read its contents. She looked it over and frowned.

Money. Thousands of gald, _hundreds_ of thousands of gald, payments dating back for months… Raine eyed the document, checking the dates, the numbers. The first upcoming date was her imminent fourteenth birthday.  
 __  
14, pureblood elf  
if premenarche: 289,000 g, A. F. Bernhardt (prepaid)  
if postpubescent:219,000 g  
2nd time: 136,000 g, B. R. Nowell (prepaid)  
3rd: 110,000 g, C. Wick (not in full)  
subsequent: 95,000 g, A. Anders (prepaid), W. L. Esther (prepaid), S. Endan (prepaid), R. A. N. O'Neil (unpaid), P. Lark (unpaid)...  
  
The list went on, full of names, payment statuses, sums of money that Raine had never even dreamed about. As her eyes flickered across the page, a slow, horrible realization came to her.

These prices, these buyers, these payments… were for her.

Her heart dropped, her breathing quickened. The meager sum she was earning now was nothing compared to the fortunes being prepaid, handed over to Ma'am with only the promise of a product. She narrowed her eyes. Was this just to view her sitting there, reading?

She grit her teeth. No. That was why her worth went down as the list went on. She knew what this was about. Ma'am must've displayed her as untouchable long enough to rack up the buyers… get them wanting something they couldn't yet have. And gods, did they pay big sums for it.

But they wouldn't get what they had paid for. Raine had not agreed to this. She wouldn't stand for it. She would leave if she had to. She figured if Ma'am knew about this she might have some trouble getting out of the city, since apparently she was worth quite a bit on the market. But if she could get away with pretending not to know… well, her first date apparently was on her birthday, which wasn't for another few weeks. She would have time to pack, to plan, to save up. She would gather herself, her belongings, secretly, and one day early in the morning make her way out into the wilderness, find a caravan to ride with…

She could bring Etta with her. If she could convince her to come. Then she wouldn't have to suffer all the bruises, all those smarmy love letters, her terrible pay and her itchy bed. Yes, if Etta could come with her, everything would be all right. She would tell Etta straightaway and they could get plans laid out.

Raine turned to the door, forgetting about her search for easy reading, but stopped in her tracks. Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, frowning angrily, stood Ma'am.


	7. Plans

Raine dangled at the end of Ma'am's ireful glare like a fish at the end of a line. She shook, biting her lip, looking for an escape, but the only possible exit was blocked by Ma'am's broad, robed body. Raine had no choice but to try to defend herself from within the increasingly claustral office.

"I didn't agree to this," she squeaked.

Ma'am grinned mercilessly. "Agree to what? You agreed to work for me until a month after you turned fourteen. You're under contract."

"What you're doing isn't legal," Raine ventured, but she wasn't really sure. Ma'am seemed like a stickler for legality, since any slip-up would have her dubious institution shut down for good.

"It's legal once your birthday hits, regardless of whether or not your period hits first. No, I only do what is permitted by the state. I'm not some _criminal,_ girl. You and your brother officially belong to me until then."

"I won't do it," Raine said. "I'm leaving."

Ma'am shrugged guiltlessly. "You can, but I wouldn't if I were you. Once you do, I can lawfully file a missing property report and put out a reward for you. Besides, your little brother is going to stay here. You can leave without him, but I can't guarantee his safety. After all, he's not worth much in this industry."

Raine clenched her fists, wishing she had some offensive magic at the end of them that she could throw Ma'am's way. "What did you do with him?"

Ma'am moved form the doorway, toward her desk. Raine slipped out of her reach, eyeing the now empty doorway. But now that Ma'am had brought Genis into this, both of them knew that Raine wasn't going to suddenly make a break for it.

Ma'am sat down at her desk and looked over the document. "I did nothing to him. I'm not some sort of monster. He'll just be under our care for the time being. Until you fulfill your contract." Ma'am sighed. "I knew this day would come. You're a smart little girl, Raine, but you don't know how the world works. I guess you're not technically an adult yet, at least not until your birthday. So let me give you a few pointers." Ma'am leaned over the desk, keeping Raine pinned to the floor with only her stare. "Adults live by rules. Not all the rules are fair, in fact, I'm fairly sure _none_ are fair, but that's just how it is, love, nothing is fair. Nothing is just. Look at the Desians, the ranch. Look at the women around you. Do you think they did something to deserve this life? Plenty of them are just like Etta—guiltless, lovely girls who would make good wives and mothers and friends. But they were dealt a hand in life that stuck them here, just like you.

"But unlike you, they live with it. They deal with it. They make themselves useful. Because that's what builds a society—usefulness. If everyone were as selfish as you and ran away at the first sign of discomfort, our whole city would collapse, get it? You play your part in this establishment by being useful, Raine. You help out all the women here, you help yourself, you help your little brother. Who do you think puts food in his mouth? In your mouth? We don't get money for free, dear." Ma'am deigned to notice that Raine had begun to cry, and softened her tone of voice. "I know, it's not fair. But that's the biggest tip I have for you, love, _nothing_ is fair. Life will hurt you, and that's all it will do. Now, are you willing to give back to the others around you who have also been hurt? Are you willing to contribute to the community that kept you and your brother alive for so many years? That allowed you to go to school?"

Raine sniffled but didn't answer. There was no one standing between her and the door now, but she just stood there, paralyzed.

"You may go, Raine," Ma'am said, almost kindly. "You have some thinking to do. You're a little emotional right now, but that's all right. We'll take care of Genis while you sort yourself out."

Against her will, Raine's legs took her to the door, down the stairs, back to her room. Predictably, Genis was absent. She wasn't sure who came down and got him or when; perhaps Ma'am had spied her snooping and got someone to nab him just in case. Perhaps she had always known Raine would discover what her contract entailed eventually, and she had prepared for this very scenario. Adults always seemed like they were one step ahead of Raine—always preparing for a future that she lacked the foresight to predict.

Well, now she was one of them. She would play their game, she would enter their world, outlast them, outsmart them.

She lay down on her bed, a tear dripping down her cheek. She wiped it away, swallowing her sobs. She would not cry. Crying was for children. She was not a child anymore.

She rolled on her side and stared at the wall, thinking deeply. She thought about what she could do, what she could say, to get Genis back and to get out of this place. She thought about Etta, and Candle, and the money she had stashed away under her bed. She wondered how much she could reveal to her without getting herself punished, without getting Genis punished.

She figured he must be somewhere within the establishment. Ma'am wouldn't dare do anything to harm him, if she wanted her money's worth out of Raine. So she didn't have to worry about him. He would take care of himself. She fretted momentarily how her absence might affect him at this crucial point in his development, but there wasn't much she could do at this juncture. She could keep an eye on him for abnormalities, when she got him back. But all that came later.

She thought about Etta. She wondered if Etta didn't know what Raine's contract included, or if she thought that Raine would be freed on the day of her birthday. Evidently, if Raine didn't know the fine print of her own agreement, Etta couldn't either. At least, that's what Raine wanted to think. She wanted to believe in Etta's ignorance because the alternative was much worse.

Raine lay in bed until Etta arrived at her door, carrying Candle, asking her if she was all right. "It's late, love," she said. "You want some breakfast?"

Raine tried to peer past Etta to see if anyone was listening. She saw no one. "Come in here," Raine said, with a tone of desperation that made Etta instinctively close the door behind her. Even though they were now alone, Raine wasn't sure how much she could say. "Etta… do you want to leave this place?"

"Every day, since the first day."

"Then let's do it."

Etta laughed. "Sorry, Raine, but I can't exactly just walk out. I'm under contract, I'm legally Sea Witch property until the end of… well, for another three years. Besides, if I somehow managed to weasel out of this arrangement, I have no skills. I wouldn't be able to find any other work. I can't even afford a ticket out of town, or a payment on an apartment... or anything."

Raine frowned. "I'm leaving soon, Etta. I want you to come with me."

Etta's smile disappeared. "Really?"

Raine nodded. "There's only one thing stopping me right now, and I'm going to take care of that."

Etta tilted her head, confused. "I don't… really…"

Raine got up and moved past her toward the door. "Keep this in mind: you can leave here with me, very soon. In a few weeks. I'll pay for our passage." Etta looked at her like she was absolutely insane.

"Wait…" Etta started. Raine opened the door and peeked outside. "Where are you going?"

"The library."

*

One of the many times Raine and her family had been forced to quit civilization due to the relentless pursuit of the University, she found herself on a sleepy riverbank. She stared into the current, watching the shadows of fish dart back and forth, and tried to force herself not to be scared of the water and whatever creatures lived under its surface. She tried to recall the enthralling tide pools, the joy and freedom of swimming, in order to quell her phobia. It didn't work.

She remembered her father, standing a few yards away, pants rolled up to his knees, current splashing at his calves. He stared down into the water like a man facing down death, primitive, hand-carved wooden spear hovering over his head, shaking only slightly.

"This," he started, almost too quietly for Raine to hear, "this is how real fishing gets done." He threw the spear into the water, where it landed with an ineffectual blub. He retrieved the spear to find its tip empty, so he stood back up, waiting for the scattered fish to forget about the danger and come swimming back into his vicinity. He again raised the spear above his head.

"What on earth are you doing?" Neither Raine nor her father had heard her mother emerge from the trees, firewood in hand. "You know we have fishing line."

"This is how the ancient Ko'an people of this region fished for thousands of years, dear. It is a sacred art, a pact between man and animal—" He threw the spear into the water, again missing his target.

"Buncha bunk, is what it is," her mother replied, sitting down, dropping the firewood beside her. "You know, if you want to go spearfishing, you really need a harpoon gun."

"That's downright cheating," he replied, retrieving his spear. "It violates the symbolic—and symbiotic—trust between people and nature to take advantage of technology to kill."

Raine was called over to her mother's side. "Okay, darling, we're going to show him how it's done. Since your father obviously isn't going to catch a fish, we're not eating tonight unless _we_ get one. Do you want to eat tonight?"

Raine nodded. She would prefer it if she could eat every night, but she knew that was a bit too much to wish for.

"Okay then, do exactly as I tell you."

Raine stayed by her mother's side all afternoon, holding up the base of a piece of birch as she whittled away, tying knots in the fishing line exactly how her mother instructed, holding the bits of pieces of the nascent, primitive machine in place as it was slowly brought forth into the world. Occasionally her mother would step back, eyeball the device, twist it around in her hands to make sure the elasticity and tension was perfect, then pare it a bit at the edges to alter the variables just so.

As the sun touched the tips of the trees, her father was still trying to pit himself with only his instincts against the wily fish. As expected, he came up empty-handed. By the time dusk hit, the device had been shaped just to her mother's liking. They approached the riverside where man and fish kept up their eternal struggle.

"Hand me that thing, will you?" her mother said, practically grabbing the spear out of her husband's hands and placing it along the length of her wooden contrivance. She propped it up on her shoulder and aimed toward the water, shutting one eye to make sure everything was aligned just right. "This is how you catch a fish, dear husband."

Raine wasn't quite sure what happened in the next second. There was an ear-splitting twang, the loud creak of wood bending violently, and an upward explosion of foaming water. The spear floated to the surface, decorated at the tip with what may have once been a fish, but was now just a strip of shining flesh dangling loosely from the wood.

Her father stared at the water for a moment before howling, "Virginia, you're _nuts_! You decimated that poor animal! You _mangled_ it!"

Virginia lowered her makeshift speargun and examined the damage. A small blotch of red bubbled to the surface, followed by tiny, broken bones. "Perhaps I did give it a little too much velocity. Next time I'll dial back on the tension. If I make the cross limbs a little thinner I might be able to…"

"Leave it to an engineer," her father muttered. "People like you are why there are mana shortages. Environmental disasters. Extinctions."

Virginia smiled. "Dear, you are so handsome when you start with your righteous indignation."

"What sort of attitude will our daughter develop toward the animal kingdom if she sees you indiscriminately _slaughtering_ them all the time? Hunting is a give-and-take exercise; a game of wits, with respect necessary on both the part of the animal and the person…"

There had been no dinner that night. Raine's father spent the rest of their little ration of daylight trying to properly spear a fish, while her mother fiddled with her speargun, vowing to perfect it. Raine would've caught a fish herself had her mother not used up all the fishing line for her little project. Her father, too, was doing a spectacular job of scaring all of the creatures away.

So Raine's stomach had been rumbling angrily when she curled up between her parents' warm bodies, but that night, it was fine with her. The lively debate that had sparked that afternoon continued well into the dark, and fervent whispers darted above her for hours. Where conservation ends and necessity begins, advantages and ethics, evidence, appeals, facts, methods, justifications—it was the most interesting type of conversation her parents had, and she got to listen well into the early hours of the morning.

*

Raine exited the library that day with a shopping list.

She made her way back to the Sea Witch, tucking her leather notebook under her arm. She greeted no one, and kept silent; she instinctively walked up to her room to check on her little brother, and it took her a moment to realize that he wasn't there. She frowned, and instead decided to head directly to the dressing room. She had decided she wouldn't say anything important to Etta for a while. She didn't want Ma'am thinking that she had any plans.

That night, as the Sea Witch began to fill up with its usual clientele, Raine couldn't help but scan the crowd. She wondered what kind of man would pay so much for her, would waste away his savings just for a taste of something he may never have again. What sort of fool would go do that? Raine scanned the faces of the men around her, some drunk and lively, others sullen and desperate, and tried to guess which one she would have to keep company in the near future. Hopefully none of them.

While she was eyeing the crowd, she noticed Ma'am standing on the foyer's elaborate stairwell, dressed in a golden gown, hair done up, makeup perfected, talking with a gentleman in a fine suit. Without breaking her conversation, she turned her head slowly and glanced over her shoulder at Raine. They locked eyes for a moment, and Ma'am smiled at her.

Raine turned back to her novel, cheeks flushed, thinking desperately. She might know. She might suspect Raine would try something. Ma'am was a lot of things, but she wasn't stupid.

Raine knew she had a time limit. She had to find out where her brother was before she could even hope to escape. The Sea Witch was an ancient building—one of the oldest in the city, with hundreds of secrets and more than its fair share of hidden rooms, all relics from its past days as a hospital, a college, a theatre, a hotel... It might take her a while to locate her little brother, but she would. And then…

She buried her face in her novel, trying to look demure, defeated. She didn't really have to pretend. Raine knew she was generally helpless against Ma'am and her ilk—she had no authority, she had no offensive magic, she couldn't even throw a decent punch... at this point, she had no allies either. Etta was dangling from the same rope she was. All she had were her books, her memories, and the willingness to gamble on them both. More than once that night did she accuse herself of being insane.

The next day, she went down to the harbor and bought some wood. According to _Varieties of Trees of Sylvarant_ , the most comprehensive guide to silviculture in the library, she had chosen a pretty durable type. She bought much more than she needed—it was cheap, and she knew that even in her masculine disguise, there may have been someone watching her on Ma'am's behalf. Any one of the hundreds of people crowding the harbor, if shown enough coin, would report what he or she had seen—Raine knew that if she had as much money at stake as Ma'am had in her, she would pay whatever it took to keep her investment safe.

So Raine took the wood to the school, and made a show of building an auxiliary bookshelf for one of the nooks in the library. She left books of carpentry open under the windows, well within view of any nosy passers-by. But in the shadows of the back of the library, in a cranny far out of sight, she began to carve a long shaft of wood, not in the shape of any viable bookcase.

Occasionally the old librarian would watch her, but not say a word. The only person who noticed her work was what she had come to think of as her old teacher, that bearded professor with such engaging lectures.

One day, while she was hewing ends of the shaft, working solely from memory, she looked up to find him hovering over her, head tilted curiously. She started, wondering if she should bolt, if she should kick him in the shins and make a run for it, and start from scratch later on.

"What are you working on there, young student?" he asked, not maliciously.

"I'm building a bookcase for the nook under the west window," Raine told him matter-of-factly. "The librarian hired me. You can see how the atlases are piling up over there."

He turned his head, examining her work. "That doesn't look like a bookcase."

Raine grit her teeth. "It's not the body. It's a… it's a decorative frame. Just for over the top shelf."

"Oh. Well, I guess I can see that." He gently lay a hand on Raine's shoulder, and a shiver ran through her. "I look forward to seeing how it turns out. Now that you mention it, it _is_ quite cluttered over there."

She raised her eyes, and he smiled down at her briefly before turning to go. Raine wondered if he believed her, or if he was just kind enough to humor her. She watched him disappear between two bookshelves, leaving her alone, a tingling sensation still buzzing in her shoulder from where he had touched her.

*

Raine sat in her bedroom, in the quiet darkness of early morning, unable to sleep. She held her hands up before her face, summoning light to the tips of her fingers, reveling in its comforting warmth. She twisted her hands around, forming a bright sphere, and played with it for a few minutes, letting it bounce between her palms like a gentle little sun, lighting up her room.

Her birthday was still weeks away, but she was jittery and shaky as ever. She never knew how much she could miss Genis. He couldn't hold a decent conversation, he wasn't particularly helpful or insightful or even fun—so why did it suddenly feel like she was missing a limb?

Etta had asked about him. Raine had only said that he was sick and was being cared for in another part of the building for a little while, where he couldn't infect anyone. Etta thought it was nonsense, that no one could care for him better than Raine. And while she was right, Raine couldn't say anything that might let Ma'am know she was recruiting Etta to her side.

Now, in the quiet darkness of her room, as she played with the bright light between her fingers, all she wanted was her brother. She couldn't fathom why—so far he had only held her back. Without him, she would be well on her way to safety by now, never having to worry about being sold off to the highest bidder. But she couldn't leave without him.

A quiet knock to her door nearly stopped her heart. She extinguished the sphere of light dancing in her hands and lay back down on her bed, pretending to sleep. She opened one eye as the door creaked open, expecting the worst.

"Raine, dear," Etta's whisper brought a sigh of relief.

Raine sat up. "What is it? Aren't you working?"

"Officially, yes. But tonight was quick, thank Martel. I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Why? Things are the same as ever."

Raine could almost see Etta's look of disappointment in the darkness. "Raine, I'm illiterate, I'm not stupid. What happened? Why are you so distant all of a sudden? Is it about Genis?"

"Is… is the door closed?" Raine whispered. In this pitch-black darkness she couldn't be sure.

"Yes."

Raine again summoned her tiny sphere of light, illuminating Etta's poor face, concerned, worn-down with worry. "Remember when I told you that you could come with me when I left?"

"Yes, and there would be nothing I'd like more, but—"

"You'll break contract, I know. But I'll be breaking it too. I'm planning on leaving as soon as I get my brother back."

"Get… get him back?"

"Ma'am took him, as collateral."

"She _what_?"

"She's going to make sure I don't leave until it's legal for her to sell me."

Etta's silence was tense, heavy with rage. "That snake. That slithering piece of trash..."

Raine didn't let Etta follow her train of anger. "I'm going to get out of here," she said. "I have enough money for a fare out of town, on a ship. I checked at the harbor. I have enough for two tickets and some left over. They don't charge for infants."

Etta's breathing quickened, and her eyes darted back and forth, but Raine couldn't guess as to what she was trying to find in the thick darkness. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"When… would we leave?"

"I can't say. I might need a little while to find Genis. They probably have him locked up somewhere in the building, and I'll need to either get a key, or trick someone into opening the door for me… I really don't have a plan for that yet."

Etta frowned. "I'll look into it. There are plenty of hidden spaces in this old building."

"But… but don't let Ma'am think you're helping me. Don't let her suspect anything."

"I've known that woman for a long time, Raine. I think I can navigate my way around her."

"So… well…" Raine started, a little worried that she had officially spilled the beans and could never pick them back up again. "Be careful, don't do anything noticeable. Please."

Etta stroked Raine's cheek. "Raine. I might not be able to come with you when the time comes, but I promise that I will help you get your brother back. I won't let this place wear you down until you have nowhere else to go. I don't want you to go through what I did."

Raine fell into her arms. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't mention it, love."

*

Raine bought some strong twine from a boy who played marbles at the harbor. She had thrust herself in his company a few weeks ago, condescending to forfeit a few games, hoping that he might be able to give her what she needed in secrecy, under the guise of children at play. He was a clever boy, a sailor's son, who was a few years younger than Raine and all too eager to play with a calm, collected child older than he was.

Raine knew she was too old for these types of games, and it might have been for this reason that the younger boy enjoyed her company so much. From what he casually told her over their games, he had an elder brother, but he was too mature and proud to play. He was always at sea with their father.

Raine said she wanted to buy some marbles from him. At the Sea Witch, it would be obvious that they would be for Genis or Candle, in case someone was watching her. Here at the harbor, they concealed some strong, thin rope curled at the bottom of the small burlap bag.

The boy hadn't asked any questions. Raine forked over what must've been a small fortune for a kid who was unemployed. She told him the conditions of their trade solemnly but fairly, hoping that he mistrusted adults as much as she did at this point. He did often keep company with smugglers and pirates and other bad examples, owing to his life at the seaside.

"The extra money is for you to buy me and my mother a fare out of town. We can't do it ourselves because my dad will find out," she said, hoping that her excuse was at least reasonably believable.

"Yeah, I heard that kinda story before," he said sympathetically. "My cousin had a dad like that."

"Get us onto a ship sometime the week after next," she said.

He nodded, handed her the marbles, pocketed her money and smiled. She hoped she hadn't given away her fortune to a swindler.

"If you don't deliver, I'll come find you, and I'll beat you up," she said, just to make sure he got the point.

"You take me for some kinda pirate?" he asked, clearly offended.

Raine bit her lip. "Sorry. I'm... somewhat desperate."

The kid sighed. "Yeah, I know. I won't say anything." He flashed his eyes up at her. "If I get to keep what's left after I buy the tickets."

"Yeah, sure. You can keep it. But if you rat me out, I'll break your arms."

He raised an eyebrow. "Got it, cap'n," he said.

Raine watched him go, holding the marbles to her chest, worrying that he could see right through her bluff, until she realized she wasn't even bluffing. She probably would beat him to a pulp if she found out he'd gone and wasted her opportunity to escape.

She still had a few hours before work, so she slipped back to the library, bag of marbles tucked under her coat. She had to finish this thing, soon, from memory… she only had two more weeks, and no inkling of where her brother was. She started to sweat just thinking about it.

Safe in the shadows of the empty library, she tucked herself into her usual corner and dug the twine out of the bag. She lay it across the bent beams of wood, stretching it, wrapping it, plucking it with a mildly satisfying twang. She knew that she wouldn't have enough time to actually test the thing—she could only hope her calculations had been correct, at least to a functional degree. Other than that, she would have to hope her errors were surmountable.

Her father's voice echoed in her head: _If you err, darling, err on the side of the merciful._

And then her mother's voice came rushing in after his: _No, Raine, that's nonsense. If you err, err on the side of the explosive._

_You want to minimize damage in all acts._

_Don't listen to him, dear, he thinks he's so wise. If you're going to fail (and you are, a lot), fail spectacularly. If you must screw up, make a good show of it._

But both of her parents could agree on one thing: try not to fail. Especially when it's important. Especially when life depends on it, when a single wrong move could get you killed, or worse, fallen into the hands of the men from the enigmatic University.

Raine was fairly sure she had nothing to fear from the University now. Not since they had been absent from her life for almost three years. But it always seemed that eliminating one fear only opened doors for another.

So Raine had to choose her fears carefully. If she wanted to follow her parents' advice, she had to choose her errors and mistakes and failures carefully.

Except she didn't really have a choice in those matters.

Her parents must've been crazy.


	8. The Window

"I got you onto a ship that leaves in two days," the boy from the harbor told her, whispering over their game. "I made up some names for you. The tickets are for Alana and Adam Anderson."

Raine frowned. "Creative."

"Hey, I didn't have much time to think up names. I was on the spot by the ticket master. But they won't give you trouble. I know one of the assistant mates; he's a friend of my dad's. It leaves at five in the morning. Sorry I couldn't get a better time." He slipped two crumpled notes across the wooden dock toward her, and she pocketed them quickly, hoping that no one had seen.

"No, that time is perfect." Raine stood.

"Hey, are we gonna play more?" he asked. "I was gonna win."

"No. I'm afraid not. I need to go—I have plenty of things to do."

"Oh… well… I guess… good luck."

She forced a smile before she went. "Thanks. See you around."

She knew perfectly well she would never see him again, so she didn't want to protract their goodbye. She didn't glance behind her as she made her way out of the harbor and back to the Sea Witch. She went to her room, climbed up on her bed and measured the width of her slim window. It looked like it might work, if she could turn the device sideways at about a thirty-degree angle… She had measured the width and length of her little weapon so assiduously that she had memorized its every proportion. It looked like she could get it in here without having to drag it through the front doors. She would have to be sneaky, though…

"Raine, what on earth are you doing?"

Raine almost jumped out of her skin, but it was only Etta, who carefully shut the door behind her. She smiled at Raine knowingly.

Raine smiled back. She wanted desperately to tell Etta what she had done. She wanted someone to admire her work, to help her out with the heavy lifting, she wanted approval. She wanted to say that she had perfected a weapon that her mother had invented years ago, and had done so with only her memory and the help of a few physics textbooks. She wanted to say she was figuring out a way to fit it through the window so, if need be, she could have a weapon when the time came. She wanted to tell her about how she had hidden it under her coat, threw it in the untouched trash pile out back, under the cover of mist. She wanted to tell her to keep an eye on it, make sure that no one cleared out the driftwood in case she had to use it to get her brother back. But she didn't. This was her last resort... if Etta knew about it and they got her to talk, Raine was utterly without a backup plan.

She just sat down on her bed and tried to look innocent. "I was trying to see if I can fit through the window. Just in case I need to."

Etta eyed her strangely. "Do you think it will come to that?"

"I hope not."

"Raine, I have some news."

Raine's breath shortened, hoping that it wasn't bad. "What?"

"I heard Grace talking about how she heard Genis was sick. She might've heard it from you. Well, anyway, one of the other girls swears by the gods that she heard him crying through the wall of Ma'am's office. He's in one of the adjacent rooms, apparently."

Raine smiled. If he was crying, at least it meant he wasn't dead. "Good."

Etta seemed momentarily taken aback by her optimism. "How are you planning to get him out?"

"I have a little something up my sleeve. Anyway, I also have something for you."

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the crumpled tickets. "We leave at five in the morning the day after tomorrow. Keep these with you, keep them hidden, and don't tell anyone. We probably shouldn't talk about this until it's time to leave."

Etta took the tickets from her and stared at them. "Raine… I can't. I… You were serious. We can get out…"

"Don't tell anyone, Etta. Keep those hidden. And please, please, whatever you do, get on board. Even if I'm not there. I promise, Genis and I will come with you. We might have to stowaway, we might be early, we might be late. But when the time comes, you have to promise me you're going to get on that ship."

Etta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I promise." When she opened them again, she was smiling. "I trust that you will be punctual, as always."

"Have I ever been late?" Raine asked. Not in living memory. She hoped to the gods that this crucial time wouldn't be the first.

*

When Raine went to bed in the early morning the day before her birthday, she found that sleep came easy. The churning ocean that she usually saw when she closed her eyes was calm, and for once in her life, she didn't fear it. She had everything sorted, everything ready. Etta said she had taken care of the tickets and hidden them in some secret place even Ma'am didn't know about. Raine wished they could've left sooner, but secrecy was a time-costly business. Tomorrow she would slip away, leave things here and there for the panicked employees of the Sea Witch to find—a ribbon, a hat, some hair—a trail of breadcrumbs leading them away from the establishment.

The place would be in enough upheaval for her to slip through Ma'am's office and find Genis. If she couldn't make it out with him in secrecy, there was always the projectile weapon she had stashed in the garbage heap. She had spied out the ship they would be on—if she needed to hide early, she would stow away on the thing until it got going, retrieve her ticket from Etta and from then on be a legal passenger, in case there were any unexpected inspections. She planned to be on the ship before midnight, and far away from the city by the time the sun rose on her birthday.

Etta wouldn't say a thing. She would be at the harbor, hidden, waiting for Raine until the time came to board the ship. Even if they couldn't meet on the dock, they would meet on board… then… well, Raine didn't have a plan after that. To be honest, she hadn't even asked the boy where the ship was going—all that mattered was that they got out of the city. And she would get out… by all the gods, she would…

She closed her eyes, knowing that at this point in time, all her dominos were set up, and that she just had to wait, wait a little longer…

Raine was shaken away by a pair of rough hands. She squinted to see what was going on, but she was smothered in a cloudy haze of blackness. She opened her mouth to cry out, but whatever was covering her eyes covered her mouth too, and she was suffocating—

Oh, gods, she was in the ocean again, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, someone had thrown her back in the water, this was a nightmare, no, it was real, no, it was surely a nightmare—her heart banged furiously against her ribs, loud enough to deafen her to the sound of her own desperate gasping. She had to wake up, she had to wake up now, she had to swim. She flailed her arms, still half-asleep, on the verge of slipping back into unconsciousness, but something that was not water caught her wrists.

This wasn't a dream… this…

When light entered her vision again, she was in Ma'am's office, seated on a chair opposite her desk. Raine tilted her head toward the light and took a breath, thankful only that she was not drowning.

Ma'am seemed to have been talking for a while now, but Raine evidently had not been coherent enough to catch what she had been saying.

"… honest, I knew you would try something like this. Even though you're a danger to this establishment, nothing but a little selfish imp, I have to say, I'm at least a little impressed. What in the hell is this thing?"

On Ma'am's scarlet desk lay Raine's makeshift speargun. Raine instinctively reached out for it, but her hand was pushed away and she was slapped gently back into full consciousness.

"You built this yourself?" Ma'am asked. "It looks a little dangerous for a little girl to have. Especially one as downright unstable as yourself."

Raine blinked, taking in her surroundings. It was dark outside... barely lit in this little office—she must've been out for a while. She shook her head and took hold of herself enough to sneer. "I thought I wasn't a little girl anymore."

"You are until midnight tonight. Then you're a woman. Congratulations, happy birthday." There was no kindness in Ma'am's voice.

Raine thought about reaching out for the speargun, but it was empty, and she didn't have the strength to use it as a bludgeon.

"You're going to wear your usual getup," Ma'am started, ignoring Raine's hateful glare. "Grace will help you dress, get you ready. You only have about five hours until you work. Try not to do anything stupid before then." Ma'am stood, glancing out the window, where the sun was already rapidly setting. "Oh, and if I hear that you're making trouble…" she paused thoughtfully, "I'll throw your baby brother into the sea."

Raine watched her walk toward the door, fuming. Before Ma'am could exit, she stood, listening as hard as she could for any cries or sounds in the walls. "Genis!" she screamed, almost expecting a reply from one of the adjacent rooms. None came.

Ma'am turned at the door and smiled at her. "You think I haven't figured you out? I can't have you finding him before your debut. It's too big a risk for my investment. Rest assured, Raine, you won't be able to find him, not until you're done working here. But he'll be safe. As long as I get my money's worth out of you." She flashed Raine a cruel smile before sweeping out the door and down the hall.

Raine had no words left. As she was led up to the biggest and most expensive suite in the building, she sorted through her options, discarding them as soon as they came. She could make a break for it, leave her brother behind, make for the ship. But she could never again face Etta after she'd abandoned him. She could try to fight her way out of this place, but she didn't have the strength—and she didn't know if they'd really hurt Genis before she could get to him. Her last option was to suffer the indignity and abuse, and hope that maybe one day in the near future, she'd be able to see him again.

She was instructed to undress and enter the suite's private bathroom, and as she was scrubbed down, her hair washed and her skin anointed with creams and scented oils, she berated herself for giving up so easily.

Somehow, she would find a way out of this. If anything, she was a quick thinker. She might not be strong, but she was clever. She would find a way… but as she racked her brain, no possibilities came to her. She couldn't conceive of any reasonable escape plan. Well, she still had a few hours to think.

She sat down in front of the vanity as Grace began to apply her cosmetics. With each painstaking stroke of the pencil, with each light touch of the brush, she waited for an idea. But her head was empty; it was as if all of her thoughts had betrayed her at the last minute and escaped her mind. She figured they didn't want to be around for whatever happened next.

"You want some wine," Grace said.

"No, thank you," Raine answered quietly, eyeing the bottle of thick red liquid sitting at the edge of the dressing table.

"No, I'm telling you, you really want some."

Raine scrunched up her face.

"Don't do that, you'll ruin your makeup. This is your first client, isn't it? Believe me, you really do want some wine. Don't smear your lipstick on the rim."

Grace poured some into a decorative glass and handed it to her. She examined the cup, hoping she might find some inspiration inside. She raised it to her lips, cringing at the heavy bitterness. "It's disgusting," she said.

"You'll get used to it. You're never going to drink anything better around here. But this stuff eases the pain like anything else."

Raine downed the rest of the wine, trying to ignore the taste, and when she set the glass back down on the vanity and looked at herself in the mirror, she felt something strange bubble up in her stomach. She thought she was going to vomit, but she held it down, a strange warmth crawling through her. She swayed slightly, examined her reflection and asked for another.

Grace laughed. "Hold your horses, love, you weigh nothing. Giving you another right now's gonna kill you."

"That's the point."

Grace adopted a soothing tone. "We were all a little nervous at first, but it gets better." Grace wound a strand of hair around her head, weaving it into a delicate braid. "You can have some more later."

Raine looked at Grace's reflection in the mirror, the lines of wisdom on her face, her weary eyes, and decided to try her luck. "Grace? Will you let me go?"

Grace's slight smile disappeared, so Raine continued.

"I want to leave, I have to leave. So let me. Please."

Grace sighed. "If you had asked me that twenty years ago, I would've done it, wholeheartedly. I would've believed you could escape this kind of life. But now I know better... I know more. So listen well: the world out there is just like the world in here, only worse. Everywhere you go, people will use you. They will use you and hurt you and manipulate you for their own gain. At least in here, you get paid for it. At least you get food and shelter and support from the other women." Grace knelt beside her and looked her in the eye. "I'm not going to let you go because I honestly believe that anywhere you're likely to end up is far worse than this place. I know you're not a street kid—trust me, I can tell, I used to be one myself. You're too refined, too fragile. I don't think you'll last out there. I think if you run off now you'll be dead within the week."

Raine glanced at her bare, pale feet. In a way, she knew the woman was right. But Grace didn't know that Raine would have Etta. And she couldn't tell her. She just sat in silence as Grace did her hair, occasionally pouring a little more wine into her glass, which she sipped thoughtfully, trying to concoct a decent plan. Nothing she could think of didn't involve her endangering Genis in some way. The wine slowed her heart, but it didn't help her head.

The hours wore on; Grace powdered her feet, her hands, her face, dressed her, adjusted her hair, made sure everything was absolutely perfect. As a final touch, Grace wrapped a silvery silk cord around her waist, once, twice, pulling it tight to make her look like she had least had the semblance of curves. By the time midnight approached, Raine was slightly drunk and absolutely radiant.

"You look like an angel," Grace said, touching her gently on the head. "I have to leave you here until it's time. But good luck, be sure to think of pleasant things. When it's all over I'll be sure to bring you something warm to drink."

Raine watched her make for the door. "What do I do?" she asked.

Grace unlocked the door. "Whatever he asks," she said quietly before shutting it behind her. Raine heard a distinct click and knew she was stuck. But at least now she was alone, so she could explore her options.

She went to the window, looked out over the sea. The sky was dark and cloudy, and a few rain drops tapped at the glass. She tried to open the window to find it shut fast. Ma'am's office was right below this room; if she broke the glass now, someone would hear, and come up to make sure she wasn't getting away. If she could construct some sort of ladder, or find some rope, she might be able to break the window at the last minute and be out of there by the time anyone managed to come check on her. She searched the room for anything useful. There was the vanity, a love seat, the massive four-poster bed, silky white sheets. She figured she might just be able to use that old cliche of tying the bedsheets together to make a rope…

She heard voices outside her door. She started, her brain chugging away, trying to come up with a plan. She didn't have time to make something… she might just have to wing it and hope for the best, or try to dash out the door while it was open.

But when the crucial time came, she found that she was stuck in place. She couldn't make for the window or the hall, she couldn't move. As her guest stepped into the room and shut the door gently behind him, Raine's stomach turned. When he took a step toward her she retreated, clenching a fist, heart pounding. The man who had paid so much for her company, who had given Ma'am the financial impetus to abuse her like this, was entirely familiar to her. She couldn't believe that the bearded professor that she had admired for so long would stoop this low.

She gulped, taking a step back, preparing for the worst.

"Hold on a minute, girl," he said, smiling. "Sit down. I just want to talk."

Raine didn't sit, but she listened.

"When I found out you were working here, I had to come see you." Raine had never seen him around the lobby—maybe that was what he wanted, to surprise her. "I couldn't stand that a girl like you had to work here. You always seemed so bright, so dedicated." He took another step toward her, and she fell back onto the love seat, still unsure. "I wanted to find you, to ask about you. I wanted to hear your story." He sat on the other end of the seat benignly, resting his hands in his lap.

"Is that why you…" Raine started, unable to finish.

"I wanted to know how you ended up here. You hung around the school so much, for a while I thought you were a student. I didn't know you were… this. At first I didn't even know you were a girl."

Raine gulped.

"But after a few months of you showing up at my window every day, I started to get some idea of who you were. You were a poor girl, someone who couldn't afford and education, but who loved knowledge so much she would sit in the cold rain outside the window almost every day, just to learn. I began to look forward to seeing your face. You were so attentive, so much more than my other students, and you couldn't even  _hear_ me. I thought to myself, 'Here's a girl who can listen, who's actually receptive. I could teach her so much.' I was overjoyed to see you every day."

Raine wasn't sure what to say, so she didn't say anything.

"I was disappointed when you stopped showing up outside my classroom. I knew you'd probably moved on to more difficult subjects, but I really did miss you." He reached out and touched her hand. "I was stuck alone with a bunch of apathetic students, none of which were the least bit interesting. So I would try to come find you as often as possible."

"You… came to visit in the library sometimes," Raine recalled. She gently tried to pull her hand out of his, but his grip was enthusiastic, strong.

"Yes, I did. Some of the things you were reading, my gods, you were so bright. I admired your dedication... even once when the administration noticed you were hanging around without paying your fees, I paid them for you. I wanted to keep you around. So you could learn."

Raine had thought she had been lucky when no one kicked her out of the library. Or else no one cared. Apparently someone did.

"I wanted to talk to you, to know you better, but not just as a student. You seemed like such a sweet, quiet girl. So when I heard from the proprietress that your birthday was coming up, I wanted to come see you. You were sort of like a muse to me… every time I taught something, I'd pretend I was teaching it to you." He scooted closer. "But there's still so much you need to learn. About life, what it means to grow up, to become an adult... about love…"

Raine tried to slip away, but he had a firm grip.

"I'm so happy that I get to be the one to teach you about these things."

Raine's heart sank as she stared into his greedy eyes. Of course he had not paid that much money just to talk; she should've known. She should've known and hit him over the head while she had the chance. Now she was pinned to the end of this floral love seat, hanging at the end of his powerful gaze. She knew if she stayed here much longer, she'd be crushed by the weight of him and his ego. As he reached out and touched her shoulder, she realized that if it had not been her, it would've been some other girl, some other well-meaning but naive student he could take advantage of. He thought he was going to teach her about the world. He thought he was doing good.

Raine knew that she had to do something before he managed to overpower her. But she didn't know what she could do—she wasn't strong, she was without a weapon, she had no useful magic, only healing, only light at the edge of her fingers…

He leaned in to kiss her. She pursed her lips, raising her hands. She touched the tips of her fingers gently over his closed eyes, and he smiled, kissing the inside of her palm. Deliberately, mercilessly, she conjured up the most powerful thing she could think of. She imagined water, sunlit and bright, moving through her veins, gathering in her hands. She imagined waves, huge swells of photons, golden and blinding.

The man felt the warmth of her fingers on him and grinned at the sensation. When her fingers got hotter and brighter, his smile disappeared and a look of ambivalence crossed his face. By the time he realized that what was once pleasure had turned into searing pain, it was too late. He screamed and flew backward, covering his eyes, twisting his body.

Raine stumbled out of the chair, panicking, the hot light in her fingers pulsing out. She needed to think fast. No doubt someone had heard his cry, and was making their way to the stairs this very moment. She ran to the door and found it locked, so she turned to the window, hoping she could break it and climb through before anyone came.

Her client, apparently, wasn't going to make this easy for her. "You bitch!" he squawked, trembling to his feet, eyes shut tight. "You ungrateful,  _evil_  little bitch!" He swung his arms at her, but she stepped aside easily. He no longer had eyesight but he still had a long reach, and she would have to avoid his wild flails if she wanted to get out of this room unharmed. She quietly backed up, evading his mad swings, looking around her for some help. She had only the dresser, the vanity, the bed, the love seat, the window…

While she was busy thinking, he had picked up a chair and was now swinging it at her, screaming nonsense, panicking, consumed with rage and confusion at his recent debilitation. She ducked, made her way toward the window and situated herself in front of it. If she didn't have the strength to break the thing, then maybe…

She mustered every ounce of courage she had. "Hey! Over here, you sad little bastard!" she squeaked, trembling.

He turned to her, sobbing. "Why would you do this?" he wailed. She could see where her fingers had left burn marks on his eyelids, and he was crying something that looked a little too milky to be tears. "You hateful, _disgusting_  creature!" Blindly, with all his strength, he threw the chair at her. She barely had time to duck before the chair flew through the window, shattering the glass. Raine swung around, avoiding the sudden shower of razor-like shards. She crouched, ready for her next move, and shook the hair from her eyes. She barely had time to scramble out of the way before the man stumbled to where she had been, throwing his fists into empty air. She rolled and stood, only to find that her assailant had latched onto the thin, silk cord at her waist. He pulled her toward him, smiling, sure that he finally had her pinned.

Time seemed to slow as Raine's thoughts kicked into high gear. She leaned back, resisting his pull, and spun, unwinding the cord. She pulled at the knot at the end of the cord and leaned against the stormy windowsill. She felt glass cut into her hips and rain hit her shoulders. He tried to yank her back toward him, grunting with each pull.

She tugged at the cord. "Let me go!" she screamed.

He grinned, now finally satisfied that he had her. "No."

She was disappointed that he couldn't see the triumph in her face. "Good," she said, before she secured her grip on the cord and threw herself out the window.


	9. She Came with the Rains, She Left with the Rains

Raine held her breath as the cold air rushed around her, chilling her barely-clad body to the bone. Raindrops whistled by her ears, and she curled her legs under her, trying to direct her trajectory. She couldn't help but cry out as blurs of light whipped through her vision. She felt the silk cord tauten, and hoped against hope that the flimsy material wouldn't break, or that the man she had used as her fulcrum wouldn't have the guts to let go. So far she had avoided flying headfirst into the ocean—a good start. As her body twisted at the end of the cord, Raine swung back toward the building, straight into the bright rectangle of light that in her blurred sight looked like it might be the window to Ma'am's office. In a moment of either grand bravery or unbelievable stupidity, she let go of the cord and hurled herself into the casement.

She braced herself as she flew through the window, shattering glass, snapping wood. She landed on the floor on her side, and rolled to a sitting position, knees dotted with broken glass. She hissed at the pain, but pushed herself to her feet and looked around.

She was alone in Ma'am's office. The torches on the walls lit up the room with a dim orange glow, and Raine could see that her weapon had not moved from Ma'am's desk since that evening. She grabbed it and cocked it, pulling the wooden lever back and maximizing the tension in the strong twine. She looked around for something to slip into the groove along its shaft, something that she could use as a spear.

"Perfect," she muttered to herself, bending over to grab the bronze curtain rod that had landed at her feet when she threw herself through the window. She slid it onto her weapon and secured it, just as Ma'am came bursting through the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you wretched little urchin!" she screamed.

Raine raised the speargun and pointed it at the woman's neck. "Close the door behind you and lock it."

"What the…" Ma'am gasped, but after quickly glancing behind her, she obeyed. "I don't think you know what you're doing," she growled.

Raine sneered. "I know exactly what I'm doing. If I pull this lever here, this bronze shaft will be released at a velocity that mirrors that of an arrow leaving a bow, and given the surface area of the end of the curtain rod, it should hit you with enough pressure to—"

"What the hell are you _saying_?" Ma'am spat, more irritated than afraid.

"I'm saying that if you don't lead me to my baby brother right now, I'm going to blow off your head."

Ma'am narrowed her eyes. "You couldn't."

Raine smiled and raised her eyebrows. "Try me. Even if I need you alive to tell me where Genis is, I can still break your knee from here and stomp on it until I get some information from you." Raine was so afraid and desperate that for a moment, she believed she really could. And apparently Ma'am believed it too.

"Where is our client?"

"He's upstairs. It's probably best if he gets medical attention. But for now, you're going to lead me to my little brother."

Ma'am frowned and walked across the office to an oak door. "Follow me," she muttered. Raine kept the end of her speargun pointed at the base of her neck as she followed the woman into the shadowy hall. Ma'am led her down a staircase to what she assumed was the basement of the Sea Witch. "I'm sorry it had to come to this," Ma'am said, almost sincerely. Raine pursed her lips and told her to keep walking. She did, leading Raine through the moldy basement to a safe as large as Raine's tiny bedroom. It towered over them, glinting in the dim light, and Ma'am fiddled with the lock. When the door opened, Raine's breath expelled from her mouth in a disbelieving gasp.

Inside lay piles of coins, treasures, in bags, chests, laying out as shiny as the day they were minted, everywhere. It was more money that she had ever even imagined, and on top of all of it, sleeping peacefully, swaddled in a warm wool blanket, lay Genis.

Raine called out to him, and he awoke, rubbing his eyes and yawning happily. "Wa…" he groaned, looking groggy and confused. He didn't look like he'd been harmed, in fact, he looked fatter than usual and quite content with his situation, so she lowered her weapon momentarily. He smiled when he saw it was her, threw off the blanket, and stumbled down the piles of money to her. She outstretched one arm to him, making sure that the other firmly held her weapon, and he latched onto her.

"I missed you, Genis," she said, lifting him up. He wrapped his legs around her waist, holding on to her shoulder tight. "Stay with me," she whispered to him, before turning her attention back to Ma'am, who was scowling at her. "Back up the stairs, now. In front of me," she said.

Ma'am shrugged and obeyed, leading Raine up back to her office. "You know that you won't get very far," she warned. "Even with your recent… misbehavior, I can still make a buck off you. And legally, you still belong to me. As soon as you leave I'll put out the word that I'll be paying plenty for your head. Alive, of course, I'm not some sort of monster."

Raine knew what she said was true. Maybe Ma'am would come after her the minute she escaped. Maybe for revenge, maybe to make up the money she had lost in this whole debacle. Raine could be sure that if Ma'am was capable, she wouldn't leave her alone. She narrowed her eyes at a torch on the opposite wall, thinking. "Genis," she whispered to her little brother. He looked up at her. "Hold onto me. Remember our wolf game? You're the wolf and I'm the sheep this time. Don't let go. Even once. Or else you lose."

Genis smiled and gripped her shoulder tighter.

Raine raised her speargun, aimed at the torch, and let the curtain rod loose, praying fervently. The rod hit the torch, dislodging it, and it spewed its flame across the nearest tapestry. The whole wall was alight within the next few seconds, eaten by a burst of fire. Raine covered her eyes and made for the door, fiddling with the knob, pulling it open and rushing out into the hall while Ma'am screamed for help, trying to put out the fire, kicking the flames uselessly. Raine left her to her futile attempt at saving her establishment and focused on running.

Smoke was quickly filling the halls and rooms, and clients and workers alike burst from their private chambers, yelling in confusion. Raine outran the steady advance of the smoke and flames, jumping down the stairs and into the lobby, where a few confused patrons lowered their wine glasses and asked each other what was wrong. Raine, now with an empty but still dangerous-looking weapon, pointed it at one of the men and demanded his coat. He took a long look at her in all her bloody, half-dressed glory, and reluctantly handed his wool jacket to her. By the time she took it from him and jumped out the front door, the fire had spread to the top of the stairs. An uproar followed her out, as men and women yelled and cried and stumbled for the door. Raine slipped into the shadows, Genis still firmly attached to her, and made her way to the harbor, panting. A shiver of guilt crawled its way up her spine, and she forced herself to keep moving forward, never looking behind her at the chaos she had created.

As she slipped by the governor-general's barricaded mansion, she stole a glance at the clock tower. She had a while to get to the ship before it left. She crept through the shadows, shushing Genis, occasionally whipping around to make sure she wasn't being followed. She took the most circuitous route she could imagine while still managing the time she had, and when she finally got to the harbor, she squatted behind a barrel and panted. She figured she might have half an hour or so left to get on.

She saw her ship, swaying in the rough water, splashes of angry white foam bursting from the dark waves onto the dock. Suddenly Raine felt seasick. She felt cold, small, and the recent memories of her suffocating nightmare squirmed in her mind, making her arms and legs tremble.

"I can't do it, Genis," she said. "I can't get on."

He looked at her momentarily before pointing toward the dock. Emerging from the shadows was a tall figure in a wool dress, carrying several bundles, hooded and shivering. The figure stopped before the plank leading up to the ship, looking around, lowering her hood and examining her surroundings.

"Etta," Genis whispered excitedly.

Raine took a deep breath, trying to calm her mind. Etta worriedly bounced Candle up and down to calm him as she lingered. She looked to the ship, the harbor, back to the ship, to the shadows, sighing, fidgeting, waiting.

Raine tried to muster up her courage, tried not to imagine the water swelling up and swallowing her, suffocating her…

It was now ten minutes to departure. Etta took one last look around, sighed, hugged her son closer to her and ascended to the ship's deck. Images of Etta and images of the angry ocean warred in Raine's mind, each vying for her will. She clenched her fists.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself. "I can do this…"

Right when she was sure that she would be able to get up and make her way to the ship, she heard angry voices echo through the dark. Two figures, burly, swaggering, appeared at the misty end of the harbor, spouting curses.

Raine strained to hear. "… get that bitch… burn… find her…"

She was sure that they were talking about her. They might be from the Sea Witch, they might be men that Ma'am had prepaid in the event of Raine's escape. She slipped further back into the shadows, legs shaking. She could make for the ship now, hope they wouldn't see her, or she could...

When the two men came into view, one tapped the other on the arm and they made their way up the plank to the ship. Instead of following them up the ramp, Raine turned and darted toward the heart of the city, panting, clutching both her little brother and her useless weapon close to her. She didn't know if the men had found Etta, had cared about her, were intending to leave with the ship, or had made their way back to the dock. She couldn't say she didn't care, but she knew that what she had to focus on now was getting her and her little brother away from them.

Back at the harbor, in the swelling sea, the ship unmoored and made its way into the black ocean, toward the west.

*

When Raine reached the city gates, it had already started to pour. She tugged her stolen coat tighter around her, thankful that she had the foresight to at least nab a useful article of clothing, because her work clothes were certainly not very warm. The rain might help hide her scent, which was advantageous in case they decided to come after her with hounds.

The city gates were closed, but manned anyway in the case of an emergency. Raine made her way to the tiny shack where the men on the night shift relaxed, catching some sleep before their work ended and the morning guards took their place.

Raine slammed her fists on the door to the shack until a sleepy young man opened it.

"What do you want?" he asked, yawning.

"I need you to open this gate, now," she said, trying to sound stern.

He only laughed. "Fat chance," he said. "Piss off."

"Please. You need to open the gate."

He raised an eyebrow at her persistence. "You should just go home, little girl. Where are your parents?"

"My parents…" Raine thought for a moment, and plucked a sinister plan from the depths of her desperation. She stood tall, dropping her weapon in order to free her hand to summon up some light. She raised her palm, a bright ball gathering between her fingers, and sneered. "My parents are on the other side of this gate. They happen to be high-level Desian officers. Personally appointed by Cardinal Magnius, so unless you want to end up at the ranch, you'll let me through the gate. How angry do you think they'll be if they hear their daughter was held up by an inferior being like you?" She threw her ball of light at his feet. It was a harmless gesture, but she thought it might drum up some fear in him.

"What the—" he gasped, stepping out of the way.

Raine took a stride toward him. "Listen here, you wretched little piece of trash, unless you open this gate right now, I will personally make sure there is a special cell reserved for you at the human ranch."

Abject horror passed through the young man's face, and he backed up slowly. He eyed her carefully, as if deciding if the consequences of believing her lies outweighed the consequences of disbelieving her truths. He bit his lip and went back into the hut, pulled a massive lever and the city gate let out a deafening creak. He only dared open it enough for her to slip through, and as she squeezed between the huge doors, she shot him a threatening glance.

"Don't you dare speak of this," she said, and fled into the wilderness.

As soon as she cleared the gates, she ran. She held Genis close, ignoring his frenzied cries, speeding through the mud, soaked through with freezing rain. She stuck to the road as much as she dared—she was sure eventually someone would come riding out of the city after her. But so far, there were no pursuers. She didn't know whether she was just lucky, or everyone else was smart enough not to exit the city on a night so dark and cold and wet. Raine wheezed, forcing one foot in front of the other, until she was sure that she was far enough away to look behind her.

She turned, and spied Palmacosta in the distance—a sight she hadn't seen since the wagon ride several years ago. The city walls looked the same; cold, foreboding, but the interior was lit up like a malign festival. The fire she had started at the Sea Witch had spread. At least half the district was engulfed in flames, and a massive pillar of black smoke rose slowly from the city center, darkening the rising sun. A small twitch of contrition popped up inside her, but she forced herself to examine her mistakes through a different lens, one that wouldn't condemn her to wallow in guilt for the rest of her life.

_If you err, err on the side of the explosive._

Her mother would be proud.


	10. Happy Birthday

One of Raine's earliest memories was of running.

It had been her birthday, just like it was now. She knew because her mother had presented her with something that may have resembled a cake. Both her parents had argued over the treat for hours that afternoon, each putting in his or her opinion about how the other was doing it wrong every five seconds or so. Raine liked to watch them grab the ingredients from one another and laugh as the other scrambled to retrieve it.

The cake turned out ugly, thanks to her mother, but palatable, thanks to her father. Raine didn't really mind all the ruckus, or the cake's deformities. All she knew was that it was a special day and she was the center of attention.

Her mother had wanted to have a party, with candles and songs and everything, but her father said they couldn't make too much noise. Besides, they had no friends to invite. Raine was fine with that—she preferred the quiet, intimate company of her parents and her own thoughts to the company of outsiders.

But someone decided to come to her party, after all. Although apparently he hadn't been invited.

When a hard rapping came at the door to their run-down apartment, her parents looked at one another, a gaze of fear darting between them. Raine glanced up from her cake, and her father lay his finger on his lips. He nodded to her mother and they all sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, as another fierce knock came at the flimsy door, then another, then another…

Whoever it was, they were persistent. Perhaps persistent enough to break down the door when they were done politely knocking. Raine's father looked warily from his wife to his child, then stood up, motioning for them to keep quiet.

The first thing that emerged from his mouth when he opened the door was a long curse. He tried to shut it again, but a well-polished, jet-black shoe lodged itself between the door and the frame, propping it open. Raine's father leaned forward, making sure the widest the door ever opened was the width of that shiny foot.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"Calm yourself, Kloitz, I'm not here to take your little girl away." The man nearly forced his way through the door, peeking past the frame and into their tiny apartment. Raine's mother shoved her into the shadows behind her, reaching slowly, slowly for the knife they had used to cut the cake only minutes earlier.

"What are you here for, then?" Kloitz asked.

The man smiled benignly. "Well, first of all, I represent a civilized institution and as such I'm not going to deign to commit such heinous acts as kidnapping… yet." He shrugged. "I'm here with a generous offer. The University wants both you and your wife back. Your research has frankly gone downhill since you left, and none of the associate profs or post-docs possess the kind of expertise we need."

Kloitz shot his wife a worried look. Raine clutched at her mother's knees.

"I'm really here because I care about you and your family. The administration issued an order that we should just break in and arrest all of you, but I convinced them to hold off for another day. I'm begging you, just come back and take your daughter with you, and you'll get a reprieve, I guarantee it."

Kloitz narrowed his eyes. "Are you kidding?"

An earnest shake of the head. "No. Think of your girl. She really would be better off if you let the University give her a proper education, a permanent home. We would give her a stable environment in which to cultivate her intellect."

"No." It was the only answer Raine's father would ever give. Or at least she hoped. They had told her that if the University got her, she'd probably never see them again.

"That's quite too bad, Kloitz. It would be beneficial to all of us if you came back. Letting us educate your daughter would be the only way you could worm your way back into academia. We'd even allow you to work at the same institution. Think about it. You wouldn't have to live like paupers, you'd have a stable home, and your little girl would get proper schooling."

Raine saw her mother's fist clench the kitchen knife, readying it should the man try to come inside.

Instead of bursting through the door and trying to rip Raine away from her parents, the man only shook his head. "Well, you have a few hours to decide what you want to do. I hope, for all our sakes, you choose wisely." With that, he tipped his hat, and left.

And so did Raine's family, later that day, under the cover of dusk. They climbed out through the adjacent apartment's back window because they assumed the front door was being watched. They never returned to that apartment. Raine's birthday cake had been left uneaten on the coffee table, gathering flies for the impending visitors.

*

Raine came across the House of Salvation sometime in the late evening. Her bare feet were muddy, wet, freezing, and the tips of her toes had turned purple. She had been too hurried to stop and heal herself; she only walked on. Genis had cried and cried, never ceasing his wailing, until he passed out on her back. Still, she kept walking.

When she approached the House of Salvation she realized she had no money. But she knew she couldn't last another night out there in the freezing wilds; she would have to beg.

_So_ , she miserably thought to herself. _We're back where we started. Cold, alone, lost, parentless…_

And Etta. Poor Etta. She might be halfway across the ocean by now, wondering where Raine was. Or she might be back in Ma'am's clutches, receiving a brutal beating for helping Raine escape. She might have drowned at sea or died in the fire in Palmacosta.

"Surely and forever, there lies death in my wake," Raine said to herself, quoting the last line of a poem she had read in _Soldier Poets of the Kharlan War._

"What?" Genis asked, yawning awake. "You said…"

"Nothing, Genis. Look. Shelter."

He perked up when he saw they were in the shadow of a warmly-lit building. When Raine entered, she was berated for tracking mud across the floor with her bare, frozen feet.

"I… need a room, please," she said to the woman behind the wooden counter.

"Twenty gald." The woman seemed to be preoccupied with examining something fascinating under her fingernails.

"I don't have any money. Please."

"This isn't a charity, you know."

The House seemed eager to tout its religious affiliations; Raine didn't see why they _wouldn't_ be a charity. "Please, I'm cold, my brother's cold… just let us stay in the lobby, or something."

"And stink up the place? Get lost, filthy girl."

Raine was just weighing the options of either threatening the woman into submission or just sleeping in the outhouse at the back of the building when the door opened and in burst a laughing pair of Desians. One took off her helmet, shaking out her brilliant white hair. She looked over at Raine, immediately recognized her race, and smiled.

"You look like you've had a tough day," she said, perhaps a little sadistically.

Raine gulped.

The other Desian, a man with an oddly-shaped shaved head, approached the desk and demanded a room. The receptionist didn't even charge him.

Raine shrank under the Desian woman's curious gaze. "You staying here too, little girl? You look like you're lost."

Raine shook her head. "I have no money."

"That don't matter!" the white-haired woman laughed. "Half-elves don't have to pay anyway." Raine shot the woman behind the counter a poisonous glance and she visibly began to sweat. The Desian followed her gaze and narrowed her eyes. "She's giving you a hard time?"

Raine forced herself to nod.

The lady Desian winked at her and approached the desk. "Excuse me, darling," she told her male comrade, and he stepped aside for her. Before Raine could stop her or even protest, the Desian grabbed the employee by the hair and smashed her head down on the desk. A spurt of blood followed a harrowing crunching noise, and when the Desian pulled the woman's face away from the counter, her nose had taken on an entirely new shape. Two rivulets of blood dribbled across her quivering lips.

"You think you can _disrespect_ … _my_ … _people_ …" the Desian growled, smashing the woman's head back down on the desk to emphasize her final words. "We're all filthy whips to you, ain't we?"

"N… no!" the employee feebly protested.

"Then do us all a favor and get off your goddamn high horse."

The woman was sobbing now, heavy tears following the blood down her face.

"You are going to give this little girl a room. You are not going to bother us tonight, at all. You're going to make the most delicious hot meal you've ever made in your life, and you're going to serve it up to us, _gratis_."

The woman nodded furiously, running off into the kitchen as soon as the Desian let her go.

The hairless man let out a hearty chuckle. "Damn, woman, you sure have a way with animals."

"It's a gift," she laughed, and knelt by Raine. "What are you doing out here, in this grimy human hole, all alone?"

Raine shook her head, nervously.

"We ran," Genis answered for her. He seemed open to these strangers, for some reason. Maybe he recognized his own blood flowing through them. The thought of it made Raine a little nauseous.

Without warning, the Desian pulled Raine's coat from her shoulders and examined the somewhat indecent garb she had on below, now stained with mud and sweat and blood. "What were they making you _do_?" She looked up at her companion. "What's this look like to you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe they made her dance, or something. There's also that place that got burned down last night, they sold girls like her all the time."

"Gods, they're sick bastards."

Raine pulled her coat back around herself, shivering.

The woman sighed and turned to her compatriot. "You know, sometimes, just sometimes, I get this little moral nagging at the back of my head, you know? Like what we do at the ranch ain't right. But then I see crap like this and realize that there's nothing wrong with what we do." She turned back to Raine. "It ends up being justice, more than anything."

Raine kept silent, knowing it was best if she didn't say anything. Genis opened his mouth to speak but Raine put her hand over it.

"Gods, girl, you don't belong out here, in this filthy human-infested world. Come back to the ranch with us. I have a little sister that looks just like you." She took a moment to stroke some dirt out of Raine's silvery hair. "All she wants is a friend to play with. It's hard to have fun when you're the only kid around."

"I… don't…"

"Come on. You look like you have nowhere else to go."

"Oi, leave her alone for a bit, will you?" her partner said. "She's gotta think, and rest a while, at least."

Raine thanked him silently and trudged upstairs, leaving bits of mud in her wake. She found an empty room and opened the flimsy door. The area was sparse, unappealing, but warm enough. It even had a wooden tub in the corner with a rusted copper faucet. Raine breathed a sigh of relief and set down her brother, shedding her clothes as she stepped toward it. She tugged her hair out of its intricate braids and let it fall about her waist.

She fiddled with the old faucet until a steaming stream of dirty water came pouring out. She was so eager for its warmth she sat in the empty tub, waiting for it to rise around her. She found half a bar of soap on the floor beside the tub and invited Genis over.

He was still a little groggy from the trip, but happy that there was some warm water for him. "Where's Etta?" he asked. "We always have baths with Etta."

"She's not… She's at work right now. She'll be here later." Raine smiled at him. "Come on in and let me heal your bruises."

Squished in the tub together, Raine washed them both. She scrubbed the dirt from his hair and examined him for any signs of abuse. He seemed healthy, a little fatter than usual, and utterly unperturbed by his entire ordeal. "I missed you," was all he told her when she lathered some soap between her hands and rubbed the dirt from his cheeks.

"Do you remember when I was gone?" she asked him.

"Yeah, there were coloring books. And a big, big lantern that never went out." He seemed excited to recount this to her. "And Ma'am was there, and she was really nice to me. She gave me treats, lots of them. Apples and caramel and pastries. But I missed you."

Raine tugged him closer and cupped some hot water, pouring it over his face. "I missed you too, little genius. Did you learn anything in there?"

"I learned that if I mix blue and yellow I get green paint. Also if you mix red and blue you get purple, and if you mix red and green you get yuck." Raine smiled feebly. She had not prepared for Genis to harbor fond memories of his captivity. But as Ma'am was always inclined to say, she wasn't a monster. She wondered if the old proprietress was still alive back in Palmacosta, formulating her revenge.

Raine pulled a shard of glass from her knee and healed the small cut, rubbing soap over her myriad, tiny wounds. Now that the adrenaline and desperation of her escape and travels had worn off, she began to feel the sharp pain of all the cuts she had received recklessly throwing herself through the window. "I also counted a lot," Genis told her excitedly, splashing. "Raine, what comes after one thousand?"

Oh, Martel. He had been bored. "One thousand and one," she said.

"No, no, I mean… after the one, ten, hundred… you know…"

Good Goddess, he was thinking in orders of magnitude. "A million."

"A million!" he yelled with delight. "Million!"

Raine poured hot water over her tangled hair, futilely rubbing the filthy soap against it in the hopes that some of the dirt would wash out.

"What comes after that?"

"A billion."

"After that?"

"A trillion."

"After that?"

"A quadrillion."

"And after that?"

"Are we going to do this all night, Genis?"

"After that?"

"One strangled little brother," she said, gently wrapping her hands around his neck. He laughed, splashing her.

They fell silent when a knock came at the door. Before Raine could answer, the woman from behind the counter entered, carrying a hot meal and a change of clothes. Raine grabbed a towel from the floor and covered herself, standing up to greet her.

She stared at the floor, nose bandaged, caked with blood. "I would like to apologize for earlier." Her words were toneless and rehearsed, as if someone had forced her to recite them to perfection before coming up here. "It is not the place of an inferior being to show disrespect. I was out of line. Please forgive me." She bowed deeply, and Raine's stomach turned over.

She reached out a hand. "I…" She wanted to say she was sorry on behalf of all half-elves for the heinous actions of her race, but she knew that wouldn't fix anything. "I can heal your face," she told her.

"No!" the woman backed up toward the door. "They'll know! They'll just break it again." She rushed to the door. "Enjoy your meal," she sputtered before she disappeared down the hall in a fitful twirl of her skirt.

Raine sighed, and approached the woman's offerings. Next to the plate of food was a cheap woven dress, folded neatly, and a pair of worn leather shoes. Raine assumed her Desian acquaintances had forced the woman to pilfer a House of Martel uniform in order for Raine to have some clean clothes. She certainly wasn't getting back into her work dress.

She wrapped her hair in her towel and put on the dress. She knelt by the food and called Genis over to her. Naked, he bounded from the tub, leaving a trail of wet footprints. He sat beside her and reached out for the loaf of bread. It was hard as a rock and quite tasteless, but he was ravenous enough to bite through it.

She examined her meal. Some overcooked meat, steamed vegetables, a small bowl of what looked like some sort of egg soup. Raine picked up the sharp knife from beside the plate and began cutting the meat, making sure to slice some pieces small enough for Genis' little mouth. Together they cleaned the plate of everything but the stale bread, and Raine sat back against the wall, wondering what to do next.

She could walk north, to the mountain pass. She could walk south, to the ocean… no, the ocean was out of the question. She might be able to… no… She held her head, scouring her brain for any ideas. As long as she didn't get caught and dragged back to Palmacosta, that was good enough for her.

"You're thinking," Genis told her, as if she didn't know.

"Yes."

"About what?"

Raine figured if she walked Genis through her thought processes, she might be able to more clearly sort through them. "Lots of things. First of all—"

The door opened with no knock, and Raine started, instinctively pulling Genis closer to her. The Desian woman from before walked in, still smeared with a little blood from the receptionist, and greeted them jovially.

"Hey there, you're looking better!" she said. Genis stood up to say hello to her, still naked. "Ha! Look at you. Little rule-breaker. That's right, clothes are for the weak." He laughed as she picked him up. To Raine's dismay, a smear of red blood appeared on his clean skin, most likely left over from the evening's altercation. He didn't seem to mind. He only giggled at her affection. "So," the woman continued, "we've been talking about you. You don't need to tell us about any of your past—we know it ain't pretty. We know you're half-elf orphans, or refugees, or something, it don't matter. We discussed it over and decided that you two are better off sticking with your own kind."

It felt odd to Raine, not insisting that no, she was a _full_ elf, not a _half_ elf; she had repeated the lie so many times she almost believed it herself.

The woman noticed her silence and set Genis back down. "You might be used to humans, I know that. But you can have a better life with your own people." She knelt beside Raine, reaching out to touch her hair almost affectionately. "So in the morning, when we leave for the ranch, we're taking you with us. There's plenty of room. And if you don't want to stay, we'll discuss it with the officers and we'll see what we can do for you."

Raine pursed her lips, torn. It seemed she was stuck between two races of bullies, one drunk with power and one bitterly vengeful. She didn't know which was worse, keeping company with unkind and desperate humans, or being held on the end of a Desian leash. In all honesty, she would've liked to live alone and stay alone forever. Maybe in a library. Maybe in a museum or a ruin of some sort, where she could keep only her thoughts and the echoes of nature for company.

"So, we'll see you in the morning, and then you get to come with us," the woman said, leaving no room for protest.

Genis squealed in delight at the prospect of leaving with her. She bent down to tickle him, eliciting one last laugh from him before nodding her head to Raine. "Good night, kids. It gets better from here, trust me." She shot them one last smile before she closed the door behind her.

Raine stood and sighed. She went to the bath and scrubbed out the mud spots from Genis' dirty clothes before dressing him. She walked to the tiny closet and pulled out a burlap laundry bag, stuffed it with the blanket, the leftover bar of soap, the knife, and what remained of the stale bread. She stowed it under the bed and lay down on the mattress. Genis crawled up beside her and snuggled into the crook of her arm.

"I like that lady," he said. She looked down at him, heart skipping a beat when she realized he still had a smudge of blood on him. She licked her fingers and rubbed it away. She began to wonder about him, about how he seemed unmoved by the chaos of their escape from Palmacosta. He had looked on in indifference, maybe even a mild interest, when that Desian woman had smashed the innkeeper's face against the desk, over and over.

Maybe he did not understand what was going on. Maybe he did not notice atrocity or make moral judgments because he had not developed enough of a subjective compass to comprehend right and wrong. Or maybe, just maybe, there was something in his blood, in both of their blood, that inevitably drew them toward violence. Maybe it was inescapable, biological, and every half-elf had either a streak of indifference to cruelty or of downright sadism. Maybe half-elves _were_ intrinsically evil, like everyone in Palmacosta said. Maybe there was a karmic reason that back in Raine's home country they were driven from their homes, denied basic rights. In this part of the world at least, when given those rights, all half-elves seemed to do was abuse them.

_No_ , she thought. _We are not like them. We are different._

_We are… are we, really?_

Raine could find out. She could follow those two to the human ranch, and be treated with kindness and respect at the cost of the dignity of humans. She could become a helmeted, cruel oppressor, very easily, she suspected. _I have only been given the gift of light and healing, and I have used even that to harm others. I'm already well on my way._

"Genis," she whispered, as the inn got dark and the House of Martel settled down for the night. "I want you to be very quiet. That woman, with the white hair—"

"She looks like you!" Genis said, which was as good as a punch to the stomach.

"We're going to go out and pick her some flowers from the forest. As a surprise."

Genis clapped his hands together, and she grabbed his wrists to stop the noise. "So be quiet. She can't know or it won't be a surprise. You have to hold onto me, just like we did when we played the wolf and sheep game, right? And _shh_. No talking." He grinned and latched onto her arm. "The flowers we want are deep in the forest, so we're not going to stop until we find them."

She stood up, blew out her candle, donned her coat, pulled the burlap sack over her shoulder, and slipped into the leather shoes that had come with the dress. They were too big for her, but she would have to manage. She quietly opened the door to her room, looked both ways, and breathed a sigh of relief. The hall was dark, and from the adjacent room she could hear the kinds of sounds she'd heard all the time at the Sea Witch, which meant that the Desians would at least be distracted for a little while. She tiptoed down the stairs, looking around for any employees.

The whole inn was quiet, perhaps in shock, as a result of the violence that had taken place there that evening. The maids and staff were probably hiding from their half-elf guests, which left the lobby empty. Raine crossed to the front door, crept into the yard, and dashed into the darkness beyond.

She did not stop until the sun set again, when she was well within the Hakenosia foothills.


	11. Wilderness

Raine dropped her pack and lay down at the base of a massive tree. The sun was setting rapidly and she had been awake for two days straight… she couldn't do this anymore. She didn't know if her Desian acquaintances had followed her out here, or if Ma'am was somehow on her trail, but at this point she didn't care. All she needed was sleep.

She curled up, wrapped the blanket around herself and Genis, and shivered herself into a comfortable position. It had gotten so cold so suddenly—she figured it was the altitude. Why she had chosen to go north instead of any other direction still baffled her. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was about as far from the ocean as she was going to get. Genis pressed up against her neck, trying to warm his face, and she pulled the ratty blanket tight around both of them. She hoped it would not rain that night. It would probably come down as snow.

"Wa…" Genis started.

"What?" Raine croaked, closing her eyes.

"Where's Etta? I want Etta. And Candle. I'm cold."

"Just stay close to me. You'll be fine."

"Where's Etta?" Genis started to cry. He sniffled and sobbed, but Raine was so tired the sounds of his suffering did not keep her awake. She merely held him close and passed out, and after a few minutes of crying, Genis fell asleep on top of her. The last thought she had before she slipped into unconsciousness was how merciful it would be if both of them died peacefully in their sleep.

To Raine's surprise (and to some degree, her dismay), she woke up the next morning. She awoke without frostbite stealing any of her fingers or toes, and Genis seemed fine. Apparently, however, their survival came at some sort of price, since as soon as she moved, she discovered she was in great pain. It felt like something was inside her stomach, poking at the walls of her abdomen. She sat up, and the pain only got worse. Genis stirred beside her, and she crawled to her knees, swaddling him in the blanket. He snored slightly, undisturbed. She stood, and had to bend over to relieve the pain. Raine had suffered hunger pangs before, but this kind of pain was different, it was in a different spot, it was more direct, like a stabbing, bright pain, rather than the dull ache of hunger.

Raine's stomach dropped and she lifted her dress. She reached under the hem of the skirt and had her worst fears confirmed when her hand came away bloody.

"Damn it," she hissed. Now was not the time. Couldn't her body have waited until she was in a little less precarious of a situation? Gods… she clutched her stomach and groaned. She had heard some horror stories from the other women at the Sea Witch about how much it could hurt, but she had never given very much thought to them.

"What's wrong?" Genis was sitting up, still bundled in the blanket, watching her groan and twist.

"Nothing… just a… tummy ache."

"Etta says when I have a tummy ache I need to curl into a little ball."

"It's not that kind of tummy ache, Genis."

She knelt, resting her head on her knees, and rubbed below her belly button, trying to get the sharp feeling of twisting pins to leave her muscles. She summoned up some healing magic and soaked her skin with light. Slowly, the pain dulled, and she stood up, ignoring the residual ache. She brushed dirt off her dress and started to dig through the bag.

"You're bleeding," Genis said, pointing to a small drip of blood that had made its way down to her ankle. She sighed. She didn't want to have to explain the complexities of adolescent biology to her tiny brother, especially at this point, when she needed to worry about finding food.

"It's just a little cut. Nothing to fret about."

"But you can heal it," Genis said, insistent.

"Genis. It's fine. Just shut up for a moment. Please."

She dug through her burlap bag and pulled out the half-eaten loaf of stale bread. She tossed it to Genis, who began to pick it apart deliberately, silently. She brought out the knife, set it next to the bag, and reached for the bar of soap. She scrubbed her legs clean, then carefully chopped a thin strip off the edge of the blanket. She figured she might want something to absorb her blood, unless she wanted to leave a dark trail of it behind her everywhere she went.

"I'm still hungry," Genis said, after he had eaten the bread.

"I'll find you something to eat later. Come on." She stood, stuffed the blanket back into the bag, hauled it over her shoulder and began to walk.

Genis trailed after her, occasionally whining, reaching out for her hand every once in a while. Sometimes he would stop and examine the trees, the leaves, the silver clouds above. He would ask Raine questions, mostly about Etta and Candle, but eventually stopped when Raine failed to answer any of them. As they trudged up further into the mountains, it grew colder and drier. Genis shivered and chattered his teeth regularly by mid-afternoon, so Raine invited him up on her back, where she fashioned a sling out of the blanket to hold him there. She reckoned carrying around a near-empty sack wouldn't do them good, so she pocketed the soap, tied the knife around her waist and left the bag near a trickling brook.

She forced herself onward, occasionally stopping to pick some berries or to scrape some bark off a tree for Genis to chew in the meantime. As the climate grew colder, the fruit-bearing trees tapered off somewhat, and they were stuck eating dandelions for dinner. Raine wondered if any of this struggle was at all familiar to Genis, or if he could vaguely remember being in a situation just like this years before. Maybe he couldn't remember because he hadn't developed the capacity yet, but she could sense that he knew they were somehow degenerating back into their original state—lost, orphaned, starving children.

It was as if all those years of work and school and endurance had meant nothing.

Raine again began to entertain the thought that they may die up here, alone in the wilderness. She thought it would've been a little less cruel if they had died the first time they were lost; at least Genis was a baby and wouldn't have understood what was happening. She could sense that Genis comprehended at least a little of what was transpiring now, if only because Raine's desperate mood hinted at it.

So it wasn't a surprise that when they settled down for the night he asked what happened after you died. "I don't know, Genis," Raine said. She had never been this exhausted in her life. She didn't know if it was because she had not eaten in a day and a half, or if whatever nutrients she absorbed immediately came straight back out between her legs.

"Who _does_ know?" Genis asked.

"The priests of Martel say they know, but they might be wrong. They say if you're good you get to go to paradise."

Genis looked up at her with sunken eyes. "Am I good?"

"Yes." Raine wrapped both of them up in the ratty blanket. She leaned against a stone and closed her eyes, listening to the weak rhythm of Genis' breathing.

When she awoke, it was to the violent sound of gagging. She bolted upright and saw Genis a few feet away, throwing up in the dirt. He clutched the grass like he was about to float away, and he wrenched forward every few seconds, dry heaving. Sometimes a little puff of white came out, sometimes it was a drip of saliva.

"Genis, what's wrong?" she scooted over to him and held his waist, easing him forward as he tried to vomit.

He didn't answer, he just coughed and hacked and cried and burped until the sun came up. Raine realized he had eaten the soap.

As soon as light hit, Raine picked him up and put him on her back. She eyed a thin pass between two black, barren peaks, and started toward it, hoping there would be some green valley on the other side. By the time she found herself pinched between the twin hills, Genis had barfed himself into a stupor, and was now passed out, snoring on her back. Her stomach rumbled furiously, but at least she wasn't bleeding anymore. She thought maybe her body had had enough of this madness and was now preparing to shut down for good.

That night they found a cave on the lee side of the mountain, and huddled close. It began to hail, just as the sun set.

"I'm cold," Genis said.

"Me too," Raine replied. She figured she might be able to find some firewood and get a flame going in the mouth of the cave, as long as she got back here before everything was too wet. "Genis, stay here, stay inside the blanket."

"I'll be cold without you!" Genis cried.

"Rub your hands together, remember? Just like I taught you. I'm going to get some firewood and build us a fire. Then we'll be warm, okay?"

Genis let her go, reluctantly. She explored the forested area outside the cave, picking up sticks and kindling where she found them. A few elk passed by, and she wished she hadn't dropped her speargun back in Palmacosta. Maybe they would've been able to have some meat tonight. Instead she found a bush with some bluish berries, picked some mysterious nuts off a nearby tree, piled them all into her pockets, grabbed her kindling and headed back to the cave before she could get completely soaked.

When she got to the mouth of the cave, she dropped everything. "Genis! What in Martel's name are you doing?"

He grinned up at her, holding a tiny spark of flame between his palms. "I rubbed my hands together like you told me, and look, it worked!" He held out the flame to her. "I made them warm!"

Raine sighed. Well, she knew he would grow into his magic sooner or later, if he had any. But why now? Why all these important changes _now_ , when the biggest thing Raine had to worry about was whether or not the berries she picked were poisonous?

She smiled. "Wow, Genis. Good job." She was just happy he didn't seem to be afraid of his own fire. "Now just hold it there until I set up these sticks, then we can have a real fire."

Genis watched her pile up the fuel for the fire, proudly toting his tiny flame. When she signaled to him, he bent down and held his hand to the kindling until it lit up. When they had a decent fire going, he closed his tiny fist in a puff of smoke and leaned back onto Raine's lap.

This opened up a whole new world of problems for her. Even if they lived through this trek, she would have to find someone who could teach Genis to use his elemental magic. She'd heard stories of reckless children who couldn't control their magic and ended up burning their own homes or blasting their siblings across town. But she couldn't teach him. She had no idea who could.

_For now, we need to live through the night_ , she thought. _That is all._

She hugged Genis close to her and listened to him crunch the wild nuts between his teeth. "I'm still cold," he said. The fire was small and didn't completely banish the freezing chill that had seeped into their bones constantly for the last couple of days.

Raine yawned. "You'll warm up."

They slept through the night with no interruptions, and the next morning they made it halfway up the next hill. It was mercifully lower than the previous ones, which Raine took as a positive sign they were almost on the other side of the mountain range. What they would do once they crossed the mountains, however, remained a mystery. She almost didn't want to know.

When she collapsed under the umbrageous branches of a fir tree that night, she was unsure if she would ever be able to get up again. Her stomach rumbled, she still suffered pangs of agony in her lower abdomen, and her limbs shook with effort every time she moved them.

Genis had to throw the blanket over the both of them that night. He cuddled up close to her. She closed her eyes, thinking to herself that she should go collect some firewood, but she couldn't move.

"I'm cold," Genis said.

"Yes."

"Where's Etta? I want Etta. I want Candle."

"Me too, Genis. But they're not here."

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

They lay in dark silence for a moment. "Where are we going? Will we ever get there?"

Raine sighed, body relaxing. "We're going to Asgard, Genis. We're going to find a clan of witches."

"Witches?"

"Yes. Tough, beautiful witches. They live underground and protect the summon spirits. They have fires down there that haven't gone out for a thousand years. We're going to sit in front of the fires and never be cold again. We're going to eat feasts with them every night, and we'll get to read all the books in their ancient library. They will sing songs with us and teach us their magic."

"Really?" Genis said. "I'm happy, then."

"Yes…" Raine found she didn't have the will to speak. Her last little story had drained all the remaining strength from her. Now all she wanted to do was sleep…

The next morning she couldn't get up. Genis tried to rouse her, tried to push her onto his weak little body, but she was limp. She could barely see. She couldn't speak. She wanted water, but couldn't get it… she was cold…

and then she was alone…

and Genis was gone

and so she slept

*

Her mother held her hair back and dabbed at her sweaty forehead, leaning down to give it a revitalizing kiss. Raine opened her eyes.

"There you are," her mother said. "I've been looking for you."

Raine tried to sit up but couldn't.

"You've been gone a long time," her mother said, smiling sadly. "I hope you weren't lost."

"I'm looking for the Asgard witches," Raine said weakly. "Have you seen them?"

"Dear, what do you need witches for? You're a fine witch yourself."

"Genis… he can… fire…"

"Oh, that's wonderful. Now at least our family won't be so monochromatic. Black _and_ white magic, how about that? Now if only one of us would learn to cook then we'll be golden."

Raine reached out a hand and lay it on her mother's bare arm. "Come with us."

"I'd love to, Raine, but I'm no good to you. Whatever healing I can do you already do better, love. I was never very good at it. Why do you think I went to engineering school? I was no good as a sorceress, not like my sisters. You and your brother must've gotten the good genes." She laughed. It was echoey, distant, unnerving.

"Mother," Raine whispered, suddenly afraid that this specter of a woman would disappear any moment and leave her utterly alone. "Don't go…"

"Don't worry, Raine. I'm not going anywhere. It's you that's got to go out and find your witches."

"Come with me…"

"Sorry, kid. No can do." She squeezed Raine's hand, touched her neck. "Don't die out there. Keep warm, wear your coat, look after your brother. Move on. Forget about me, please. I love you."

Raine choked back a sob. "I can't forget."

"Memory is impermanent. You will always forget, eventually. Forget me, forget your father. Focus on you, your brother… But always remember that you are loved."

"No…"

" _Loved_. Take care."

…

Goodbye


	12. Lurian

There was a voice coaxing her into consciousness, gentle, soft…

And male.

She bolted upright, realizing that her mother was suddenly gone, replaced by a stranger. She nearly bumped heads with the bearded old man who hovered over her. She wasn't dead, she wasn't at home, she wasn't in Palmacosta, she hurt all over, her head felt like a fire was burning inside it—

"What do you want with me?" she nearly screamed.

He recoiled, a little surprised at her vitriol. "Well, that's not a very kind way to say hello."

"Who are you?" Raine asked, realizing that she was on her back in a bed and her brother was suspiciously absent. Oh, gods, what if they had found her, dragged her back into a bedroom, and this was her newest guest, and what had they done to her in her sleep—

"Just relax a little," he said, standing, restoring her personal space. "You're still a bit sick. You ate some very strange plants out there in the wilderness."

Slowly, Raine began to recollect the events of the past few days. "I… where's my brother?"

"He's fine. He's in the kitchen, stuffing his face. You know he nearly set half the forest aflame. I'd never seen a toddler that nutty. He was spewing fire everywhere and screaming your name. Made it easier to find you, I admit. But gods, how did you ever live with a child that reckless?"

Raine rubbed her head. "Where… where are we?"

"A few days' walk from Asgard, in the foothills. You nearly made it all the way across the Hakenosia range. It was a valiant effort, but I'm afraid you messed up, big time. You kept mumbling nonsense in your sleep. About the Witches of Asgard. You said you were one of them, and that you had to get home."

"I… did?"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, delirious girl. They're all dead."

Raine slapped her cheeks, trying to encourage her mind into full wakefulness. "You know about the Witches of Asgard?"

"I should," he smiled. "They are my area of study."

Raine had to hide her smile. She was alive, and she was as close to the witches as she would ever get. But her joy was marred by the memory of the last time she was alone with a highly educated, bearded individual.

He raised an eyebrow at her incredulous look. "So, how did a little half-elf girl like you get lost in the mountains?"

"I'm actually full elf, not half."

"Yeah, and I'm Mithos the Hero." He laughed heartily.

Raine shivered, pulling the covers closer to her. "No, really. I am."

"You seem like a smart young woman, but you can't trick me. I've survived five daughters, one of them of mixed blood. So you can't pull the wool over my eyes." He paused, staring at her. When she remained silent, he sighed. "I made some stew. And it doesn't have poisonous berries in it. So get up when you're ready and come eat."

He left Raine alone in the tiny bedroom, and she relaxed a little. At least he hadn't tried to kiss her or anything like that. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and yawned. Gods, she was sore, hungry, she stank, her dress was still stained with blood. She stretched and stood, wiggling her toes, and examined her surroundings.

She was in a tiny bedroom with one window, looking out over a cluster of young pine trees. The walls were a homey mix of stone and wood, and a small stove in the corner warmed the room to perfection. Raine walked through the thin doorway, entered a tiny, shadowy hall, and followed the echoes of childish laughter down the stairs to the small kitchen. Genis sat at a pine table, eating voraciously. The man sat across from him and stroked his grey beard thoughtfully, as if puzzled such a tiny child could consume so much at once.

Raine, barefoot, slipped down the stairs and pulled out an empty chair beside her brother. He looked up at her and grinned, obviously pleased with himself, for some reason.

"Little Genis here helped with the stew," the old man said. "He's got talent in the kitchen already. If I were you, I'd make him cook for me every day."

Raine sat down and portioned out some stew for herself. Her stomach went mad with hunger, but she forced herself to eat slowly, to chew completely, and after each swallow take a moment to compose her thoughts.

"Thank you very much for your help," she began. "But I'm afraid we have to go. We're on our way to Asgard to meet our parents."

The old man smiled at her, kindly, unconvinced. "I happen to know that's utter nonsense, Raine. Genis here told me everything."

Raine shot an accusatory look at her brother.

"Oh, don't give him that," the man said, laughing. "You were asleep for days. He was bored out of his skull. He didn't stop talking. Seems like you've been through a rough patch. But you can stay here as long as you like. No matter how much I convince myself I'm done with the little bastards, I actually miss having children here. It does get lonely."

"He knows the Witches!" Genis yelled.

"I heard." Raine studied this man, trying to assess his intentions. He didn't seem like a bad person, but then again, Raine had misjudged characters before and had paid dearly for it. "Is it true that you're studying them?"

"Well, what's left of them. Which is a bunch of ruins and some very fascinating artifacts. A few miles up the hillside is one of their fortresses. I was fortunate enough to get there before any of my greedy colleagues." He took a moment to swear, and complain about some administrative intricacies Raine didn't understand or care about. "Anyway, long story short, I kept the ruin a secret and bought acres and acres of this wasteland so none of my bastard compatriots could get their grubby meathooks on my discovery. Said I wanted a large farm to raise a family. Bah! Like my family could handle a farm. Insolent, lazy lot, all of them."

"Where are they now?" Raine ventured. She stuffed another spoonful of delicious stew into her mouth.

"Well, my wife's long gone. Good riddance to her, I say. Oh, stop with the looks, she's not _dead_. She ran off with some other man, they're in… don't know, don't care, some tiny town in the middle of the boondocks. She's probably giving him a terrible time as we speak.

"My daughters married themselves off one by one to some simpleton or another. All their jackass husbands are interchangeable. Eh, so are my daughters. I can barely remember their names. Except my littlest… my favorite. She's the reason my wife left, I figure. She's a half-breed, just like you. She was so adorable when she was small, and _talented_ —she could bring down the rain just by pouting, cause an avalanche if she waved her arms too fast."

"What happened to her?" Raine asked, wondering if that daughter had found a safe haven for herself in this world, and was now living happily. Maybe the old man would tell Raine where she could find her, and she could get her to tell Genis all she knew about magic.

"Oh, I don't know. She left a few years ago. Last I heard she got herself tangled up in a human ranch operation somewhere. Iselia, I think. Or was it Palmacosta? I don't know. All I can hope for is that she'll grow out of this phase soon. You know how some kids are cruel to animals for a while, until they develop sympathy? Well, I don't think her frontal lobe is all there yet. She's got some growing to do—she grew pretty slow, like half-elves usually do. But she'll mature, and then she'll be back to visit." He looked to the ceiling hopelessly. "Someday."

Raine stared into her empty bowl. So, there really weren't many places for half-elves to go, besides the ranches. She didn't want to grow up to be a cog in a machine like that. She wasn't even sure she wanted to grow up at all.

"So," the old man looked over at her, hands crossed. "You said you were interested in the Witches? You some sort of magician?"

"Yes. I can heal, and apparently my brother can set things on fire. I didn't know he could until we were halfway across the mountains. Now I need to find someone to teach him before he sets everything aflame. That's why we have to move on. I know I was spouting some nonsense about witches, but in reality, I think I just…" Raine looked at her feet, wondering what to say. The revelation that she had no goal, no destination, no idea what she was doing, hit her suddenly, and she had to wipe away a tear. She tried to steady her voice. "I don't know. I just don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. I'm lost, I have no parents." She glanced up at the old man's face, and was met with a sympathetic look. "I burnt down half of Palmacoasta." She shut her mouth quickly. She had no idea why she admitted that.

The old man blinked, taken aback, but soon he broke into a smile. "Now we're getting somewhere. So you're running from the authorities, eh? Well, so are plenty of people. They won't find you out in these hills, I guarantee it. So, why did you burn down half the town?"

"I quit my job and my boss didn't like it very much."

"What was your job?"

"I was…" a prostitute? A cleaning lady? Human decoration? What was she going to tell him? "I was a model. At a place… where… um, you know… in… revealing clothes." She turned red.

"Oh gods, leave it to a trash heap like Palmacosta to have a child sex industry." She saw his fist clench. "Look, girl. I'll never tell anyone you came by here, if you want to keep going. But you're safe here. No one is going to come by looking for you, so you should stay for a while."

"Thank you for your offer, but…" she looked at Genis. "My brother is a wreck. I want him to learn to control his magic. Somewhere with a school, maybe."

"Well… I know a thing or two about impulsive wizard children. I had one, remember? And besides, who better to teach him than the old Witches themselves? You know they left plenty of manuscripts."

This caught Raine's attention. She looked up at the old man and could tell he was pleased with himself for having piqued her interest. "Manuscripts? Where? How old?"

"Hold your horses, little girl. You're still sick. You need rest. I'm not taking you out into the wilderness to see the library anytime soon. But…" he grinned, "I do have a few texts in the house. I have been periodically nicking the easier-to-carry tablets and scrolls. You can sit down with one if you'd like."

Raine couldn't help beaming at him. "I would like that very much."

"Well, there we go. You're already a more interesting character than any of my good-for-nothing daughters. They couldn't even humor my research, much less force themselves to be interested in it."

Raine spooned herself another bowl of soup, and Genis bounced on his chair, smiling. "Can we stay here?" he asked.

Raine shrugged. "For a little while, anyway. I guess we can."

The old man stood. "I might as well get you some reading material if that's your cup of tea."

"Wait," Raine said, as he made his way toward the door. "What's your name?"

"Lurian."

*

Raine dove into the ancient manuscripts like a cool pond on a scorching day. She spent hours, weeks, pouring over poetry, spells, histories. Lurian taught her the basics of the witches' ancient alphabet and within a few days she could read fluently. The spoken language was some sort of cross between ancient pre-Dynastic Sylvaranti and old Elvish.

The content of the texts themselves, though readable, were cryptic and could take days to decipher. This is what Raine liked most about them. Every time she reread a sentence, there was something new to discover inside.

"This language is so much more… charged than ours is," she said one day over breakfast. She had stayed up all night with a particular tale of one young witch who had been raised by a she-wolf, but the writing was so full of double-meanings and allusions and wordplay that she was only a quarter of the way through it.

"What do you mean?" Lurian asked from the stove. He was teaching Genis to scramble eggs.

"I mean, when we say what we say, even in writing, except for maybe some complex poetry…" Raine stopped to think. "Generally we mean what we say. What these people wrote can have two or three meanings at least. If you translate a word differently than the intention the whole sentence can mean the opposite of what it says."

"Ah, it's difficult for you, I take it. Don't worry. You're just a beginner. The reading gets smoother the more you know about the language. Pretty soon you'll be able to read through one manuscript and have two or three parallel but completely different narratives in your head. It's pivotal to the language to be able to notice and keep in memory the different meanings of each sentence. You're meant to misinterpret them, to some degree. But…" he poured some milk into the frying pan, to Genis' delight. "That's the essence of witchcraft, or so these women thought. Your ability to keep aware of your surroundings and muster the concentration to spell cast is basically what good magic is all about. You need to keep two, three, four parallel thoughts in your head at once. If you want to cross and combine spells, if you want to cast a spell in a hurry or during a fight… compartmentalizing concentration is what these women were quite good at."

Raine reexamined the tale, confused. "I guess I never thought of it that way. I usually have to close my eyes and think really hard before I can use my magic… but sometimes… if I'm really desperate…" she thought of the beam of light she threw toward the innocent Palmacostan gatekeeper. The blindness she inflicted on that teacher. What had she been thinking about? Light, oceans, fear… They were all clumsy, panicked excuses for magic, but they had worked.

"Put more salt!" Genis squeaked. "More salt!"

"Are you trying to kill us?" Lurian laughed. "No more salt."

When Raine was presented with the eggs, she was too engrossed in reinterpreting the narrative about the wolf and the girl to even notice if they were too salty or not. She did not leave the table until she had fully read the manuscript and interpreted any meaning she could glean. She learned it wasn't just a children's story about a young witch and a wolf, but it seemed to be a spell to protect a mother during childbirth, a procedure to ensure that the season's crop would not wilt, and also… perhaps a recipe for grilled badger? She didn't quite know enough words to properly interpret the last possibility.

By the time she looked up from the text, night had already fallen and Lurian was setting up a fire, letting Genis provide the spark. "So, you get it yet?"

"No," Raine answered. "Sort of. I needed to write every possible meaning down before I could get it all straight in my head."

"Ah, well, you're young. It'll be easy for you to learn." He got up and leaned over her work. "Grilled badger? What the hell are you reading?" He looked at the source material and laughed. "Gods, you do have some learning to do."

*

A few weeks later, when Raine had fattened up and become so annoyingly inquisitive that Lurian had no choice but to cave into her requests, he took her and Genis to see the old ruins. The first chills of fall were shivering through the mountain, turning the birch leaves yellow and plucking them from their branches. Raine held Genis' gloved hand, dragging him up the hillside, ignoring his complaints. He had grown fat and lazy these past couple weeks, used to cooking with Lurian in the warmth of the kitchen. The sudden chill and the steady upward climb had him complaining that he was uncomfortable and exhausted, but Raine could tell he was growing taller and stronger by the day.

"Shut that little piglet up," Lurian smiled as they stopped on a steep hillside. "Or he doesn't get to see the Witches."

"Hear that, Genis?" Raine said. "Quiet."

Lurian knelt down beside him. "Hey, remember that crap you do with your hands? The fire stuff?"

Genis nodded.

"Well, we need some light. You want to see how long you can hold a flame at the end of your fingers?"

Genis nodded vigorously. He raised his hand and immediately summoned a flame, large and bright but controlled. He had had plenty of practice lighting Lurian's stove over the past few weeks. Lurian cleared away a few branches and revealed a black doorway, leading into the darkness of the mountain. The shadows beyond the stone doorway were pure, complete, seemingly impenetrable. Genis gulped once, but followed Lurian into the darkness.

Raine came in last, glancing once back at the sunlit world before following them down into the blackness. Genis' little flame lit up two stone walls, engraved with symbols and writing. She wanted to stop and read them, but Lurian led them down farther into the tiny tunnel, deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Raine wished she could say that she was unafraid, but the tiny walls, the low ceiling, the moldy smell, the darkness… they all unnerved her.

"Genis, you okay?" she asked.

"Yup!" came the reply. He seemed a little too excited. Well, he was small, this tunnel probably didn't feel nearly as confining as it did to Raine or Lurian.

"Don't freak out, you two," Lurian said. "It opens up. And it should be late afternoon soon. You'll be able to see then."

Raine didn't understand, but figured she should probably just shut her mouth and follow him. For what seemed like hours, she followed in his stride, keeping to herself, trying to quell her uneasiness. To her surprise, the darkness eased up the farther they crept into the mountain. She was just about to ask Lurian why when the tunnel widened suddenly and bright golden light flooded her vision.

Genis extinguished his torch and followed her gaze to the ceiling. They were in a great hall, walls lined with statues and engravings, grooves and massive columns. The ceiling of the place curved above her like the gargantuan ribs of some great animal, glinting with fragments of glass and precious stone. Through a tiny slit in the roof of the great cavern came a wave of sunlight, reflected and multiplied a thousand times to light up the great hall.

Raine laughed without meaning to. She spread her arms and spun around in the sunlight, so delighted to see it way down in the bowels of this mountain. "This is brilliant!" she couldn't help exclaiming, her voice echoing around the massive chamber, rebounding and hitting her ears a hundred times over.

"I thought you'd like it. This architecture is unique to the temples in this region."

"There are more?" Raine let her eyes skim the walls, trying to make out the stories and pictures. There were too many for her to discern—she would have to come back here many, many times to read them all.

"This one is the biggest. On the opposite hill is a small one, which I think functioned as a library. That's where I found all the manuscripts. This one seems more social, like a gathering hall for ceremonies and meetings."

Raine watched the afternoon light flicker all around the hall, smiling. "How do you like it, Genis?" she asked him.

"I like it, I guess," he said, obviously expecting something a little more exciting at the end of the tunnel; perhaps a monster or a hoard of gold. As soon as he finished talking, the light went out nearly instantly, and again the hall fell into darkness.

Instinctively, Genis relit his torch and Lurian led them toward the center of the hall. "As you can see, the sun's position is vital to this temple, which is why I think any ceremonies held here were celestially significant."

Raine was a little irked that she had had so little time to admire the hall. But she also didn't have time to pout since Lurian grabbed her hand and led her to a silvery staircase. He urged her and her brother forward up the stairs, telling them that there was more to the temple than just the meeting hall. After about a thousand steps Genis started complaining about the walk.

"I guess you can just turn back and go back to the house by yourself, then," Raine said. He shut up after that. In his defense, it was an exhausting trip up, but when Raine emerged from the stone stairwell into the starlight, she was pleased she had made the effort.

"This is what I assume is the observatory," Lurian said. Raine looked across the massive arc of sky above them, then glanced to what looked to be stone rostrum, etched with designs and constellations and mathematical trajectories. It looked to be something of a sundial or calendar, but Raine would have to study it more to decipher its true meaning and use.

Even Genis was impressed with the view. He bounced up and down, pointing to this star and that—stars he never got to see in Palmacosta, with its hundreds of street lamps and ever-glowing cloud cover. A streak of galaxy glittered across Raine's view. She sat down on the dais, pulled Genis into her lap, and watched the sliver of a moon rise slowly from the mountaintops to the east.

Lurian sat down beside her and pulled out a wooden tobacco pipe. He sat back and looked at the sky with her, telling her the legends the witches concocted to explain why the stars were arranged in their particular constellations. She relaxed in the cool air and listened intently, letting her thoughts wander to the celestial realms, leaving the cruel world behind.

As she cuddled Genis and immersed herself in the stories, she finally realized that maybe, just maybe, she could manage to make a home here, and be happy.

Maybe.


	13. The Passing Year

Raine readjusted her thick wool scarf around her neck, shivering. She dug her hands into her pockets, thick leather boots crunching in the deep snow behind Lurian. Her feet were almost big enough to fit precisely the contours of his footprints. A few snowflakes twirled in the slight breeze, tickling her cold skin and eliciting a sneeze. Even though at this altitude the winters were harsh and cold, and the dryness cracked Raine's lips and hands, she much preferred the snow over the damp, freezing downpours that plagued Palmacosta during the winter months. And there was no talk of plague up here. There was no one to catch it.

Lurian had dug some scarves and jackets from his extensive closet, clothes that belonged to one daughter or another—maybe to all of them. Genis had been the proud inheritor of the earliest of the daughters' possessions, and would often stamp around the kitchen in snow boots slightly too big for him. He refused to take them off, even when Raine sat him down to teach him to read, or when he did his domestic chores. It was a miracle that they managed to get him to take them off to go to sleep. He didn't seem to mind at all that he was wearing girls' clothes. Children are shapeless, anyway—any gendered clothes fit both, and there were no other cruel children around to ridicule him for being proud of his new attire. At the Sea Witch he didn't really have any items of his own; sometimes he borrowed things from Candle, and sometimes he got some leftovers from other women, but nothing he wore ever belonged to him. Perhaps he was just proud to have something of his own for once.

Raine tried to think of the years at the Sea Witch as little as possible, and as a consequence, avoided thoughts of Etta and Candle as well. Whenever she would conjure up an image of that misty night, of Etta ragged and shivering, cradling her son to her chest, waiting, a swell of guilt would rise in Raine's lungs and she would find it difficult to breathe. Raine had abandoned Etta like her mother abandoned her, and she seemed to be unable to forget either of these events, no matter how hard she tried.

Fortunately, Genis didn't seem to remember Raine's selfish betrayal of her only friend, or his days at the Sea Witch. It seemed he was distracted by his new home, with its warmth and abundant food and Lurian's somewhat indecorous but always sincere kindness. He was learning to read, he was learning to cast spells, he was learning to cook and do arithmetic and mend his own clothes—he was too distracted, to full to the brim with new ideas and tasks, that Etta and Candle seemed to fall out of his brain and drift away into a haze of forgetfulness. Perhaps Raine was right when she once theorized that children only have a limited capacity for memory, and what new thoughts go in necessarily push the old thoughts right out.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder if somewhere in his rapidly learning mind, there was an echo of Etta, or a suggestion of her, that occasionally disturbed him. Sometimes, unprovoked and unexpected, some thought would enter his mind and erase his plentiful smile, make him sit at the window thoughtfully, sometimes for hours at a time. Maybe it was that ghostly, subconscious suggestion of Etta and Candle that made him periodically sigh, occasionally neglect his schoolwork and merely pick at his food, claiming that he didn't feel right. Raine didn't have the heart to remind him of what he had lost, perhaps because she couldn't face the fact that it was entirely her fault that they had been separated. If she had only been braver, more decisive, had planned better, all four of them might be far away right now, enjoying one another's company. But these bouts of guilt and Genis' periods of mild depression would come and go like the weather, and overall, the siblings recovered and thrived and grew rapidly under the care of the ill-mannered old scholar.

Raine especially felt alive on trips into the field like this, where she could let her thoughts wander to the intricacies of temples and ancient stories, and forget about the more harrowing details of her own life. She would be thrown into the gripping and multifaceted language of the Asgard Witches, and stories and spells and procedures would enter her mind, demanding its full attention. She could concentrate on the closely entwined language and history, peeling back one layer of syntax after another, until she had something useful, something precious. To her, it was better than solving an equation, or building a weapon, or proving a theorem.

_I'm sorry, mother,_ she would sometimes whisper to herself in her head. _I found myself a soft science. I'm afraid I won't become an engineer anytime soon._

She suspected her mother wouldn't mind. After all, Virginia had plenty to complain about when it came to mathematics and physics, especially the purely academic part. Especially about the department at the University. She would be glad Raine had managed not to get herself mixed up in an institution like that.

She much preferred her current type of learning—remote, isolated fieldwork, where there were no worries about others interfering with her note-taking. There was only a somewhat cranky old man to postulate hypotheses to and defend them from. It was almost like a game for her, and she thoroughly enjoyed it.

After about an hour of trudging through the snow, they came upon their goal: a half-submerged temple nestled in a grove of old pine trees, crumbling with age but still sturdy.

"Ha! I didn't think I'd remember where it was," Lurian said. "But here we are. This was a place of worship… or wait, it was a library, or wait..."

By now, Raine was used to his absentmindedness and multiple corrections. It probably happened so often because he was immersed in the history of a language that relied on double-meanings and parallel thinking and scattered thoughts. She ignored him and entered the building, letting him talk himself through his own hypotheses as to its use. She dropped down into the darkness, helped Lurian down, and he fumbled with the flint to light a torch (they had left Genis at home, since he had promised to complain about the cold all day if they dragged him along). The temperature was milder inside, but still, shivers coursed through her, all the way to her bones. She rubbed her arms and summoned up some light, hoping to warm herself.

She and Lurian took their time examining the walls in what Raine thought perhaps was a foyer of some sort. This particular room depicted agricultural activities, including instructions on how and when to plant and harvest crops, how long to leave a field fallow, the astronomical patterns that dictated the best times for sowing and reaping.

"Isn't it interesting," Lurian started, "that there is no mention of what to do in inclement weather?"

Raine frowned.

"There's not even a mention of winter here. Isn't that strange? Look outside; it's a damned white wasteland."

"What do you make of it?"

"Well, could be that the climate here has shifted in the past couple thousand years. It's not unheard of."

"But things like that happen over geological timescales," Raine said. "More than a couple thousand years."

"Not when mana's involved."

Raine scratched her chin. "I think that they might have had powerful enough spells to control the weather. Look here…" she pointed to a stone carving of a woman holding her hands up to the sky. "It looks like she's casting a wind spell right there."

"That's crap, girl. No one is powerful enough to control the climate."

"No _one_. But look at this engraving." She read it aloud. " 'The starry carriage sets in the west over a bountiful harvest.' But if you tweak the tense slightly, here it tells you how to ward off plant-eating bugs… but right below it, if you re-establish the tense and pluralize what used to be the word for 'carriage,' then you get a spell. A spell for a big group of people."

Lurian narrowed his eyes at the carving. "I'll be damned."

"Looks like it'd only work with a hundred witches or more, all casting at the same time… And see here, it says you have to cast it around the harvest, when the carriage constellation sets in the west for good that year."

"Good gods, Raine. How did this dumb old man miss that?"

Raine thought perhaps he was just playing with her, but when she looked into his eyes she saw that he was truly impressed. She couldn't help but smile.

They continued deeper into the cavernous fane, occasionally stopping to examine the walls and pillars and crumbling floor.

"Were any of the witches human?" she asked Lurian, after looking at a carved bust of what may have been a matriarch, who had the slender, pointed ears of the elven race.

"A good portion of them. They included elves and half-elves, of course, maybe a she-dwarf or two, where they could find them. Back then, it seemed that all races had an affinity for magic… an affinity that humans have all but lost over these past couple millennia."

"Why is that?"

"Beats me. We were irresponsible with it? Wouldn't surprise me. Most of the humans I know are complete bastards. Actually, same with the other races… so I guess I have no clue why humans generally lost that ability."

Raine nearly tripped over a strange outcropping in the wall, so she stopped to examine it. She knelt beside it and found that it looked like a very thin box, long and strong and carved with symbols. She gripped its top, struggling with the heavy stone. Lurian moved on to other parts of the expansive temple, humming to himself and waving his torch, staying close enough that he was always within earshot of Raine.

She held her magic light up with one hand and struggled with the strange, long carving with the other, tugging at its edges. When Raine finally managed to open the ancient box, she reached inside and cautiously pulled out something long and heavy. She thought it might be a sheathed sword, but it was twice her height and it looked like one end was carved with an intricate, watery design…

"Lurian!" she called, ecstatic. "Look at what I found!"

Lurian rushed over, giddy with excitement. When he saw what Raine had unearthed, a long, solid staff of petrified wood, his shoulders slumped and he lost his grin. "Oh. Another one of those."

"What do you mean?" Raine ran a hand down the smooth handle of her discovery, reveling in its cold sturdiness.

"I mean you found yourself a ritual staff. They're everywhere around these shrines. Dime a dozen."

"Oh," Raine sighed, disappointed.

"But hey. Look on the bright side. Since the museum in Asgard already has about seven of these things, you get to keep this one. Happy?"

Raine smiled. "Yes."

"All right. But remember they're for ceremonial purposes only. You can't cast spells with that thing."

It took Raine about a week to prove him wrong. She found that if she ran her hand across the length of the staff, it could serve as a soothing conduit for her concentration, and it improved her casting significantly.

Genis, immediately jealous that Raine had a witch's totem and he did not, begged and cried and screamed to have one of his own. While Raine was busy scolding him, Lurian frantically searched through the old toy cupboard, and pulled out a flimsy wooden trinket, scratched with age and use. He climbed back downstairs, where Genis was busy crying, and presented him with his own little witch's fetish, a tiny, worn kendama left over by one of his children, no doubt.

It took a few minutes of lecturing to convince Genis that this object, too, had come from a witch's shrine. He begrudgingly accepted it as reparation for leaving him out of the loop when it came to looting the old temple (he seemed to have forgotten that he didn't want to go in the first place— _"Children,"_ Raine found herself muttering, vexed). Genis liked to have things—it might be a leftover desire from his days of having absolutely nothing. Raine couldn't begrudge him for it.

Despite his tenuous acceptance of it to begin with, Genis grew to love that kendama. He would play with it all day, when he was practicing his magic, when he was doing chores. In the kitchen he'd stir a pot with one hand and practice kendama with the other. Even when Raine taught him to read, she could sometimes hear the familiar _click-click-click_ of wood on wood as he played under the table.

"Genis, put that down, I'm trying to teach you very important things."

"But it's boring."

"You need to learn this."

"Why? I don't care, it's just words, nobody speaks old Elvish anymore."

Raine grit her teeth. "Genis, put that down and concentrate or I'll make dinner tonight."

Genis carefully set the kendama down on the floor and resumed his learning. Raine cooking dinner was basically the equivalent of her setting the house on fire, and Genis hadn't yet perfected his water spells to quell any possible flames.

Later, when Genis was sent to bed and Raine sat up with a book and a cup of tea, Lurian asked her if she ever wanted to teach as a job. "You sure know how to threaten kids into listening," he said. "Indispensable trait for any instructor—it's the only way the little bastards learn anything. You'd really make an excellent teacher."

Raine sighed. "I don't want to teach."

"Really? Ah, I guess it _is_ just about the worst thing on the planet. At least for me. Just never, ever teach in college. The children are bigger and more demanding and pugnacious as hell. Stick with the small ones. The ones that can't throw a punch."

Raine smiled. "I'm not going to be a teacher." She was more of a learner, anyway. Besides, the last teacher she'd spent any time with ended up forcing her to jump through a window. No, she might be done with academia for a while. "Besides," she added, "half-elves can't legally be teachers."

"Yeah, I know, or doctors or military or civil servants. But maybe you can get a job at one of those ranches. You can teach Desian children not to grow up like their jackass parents. Promote understanding, you know."

"If I teach at a Desian school and tell the children not to grow up like their parents, their parents will no doubt behead me."

"Eh, it'll be worth it." He paused, turning serious. "Passing on knowledge is the most important thing you can do with it. You know, about the old saying that those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it... Knowledge of the past saves us from ourselves. Or it _would_ , if anyone could teach it right." He took a sip of his coffee. "We have too many people that grow up to use their knowledge to less than admirable ends. Too many kids so eager to learn not for the sake of learning, but for the sake of getting an edge on others." He sighed. "Look at the Desians. They're arguably the most advanced race on the planet, but what do they use their technical know-how for?" Raine didn't need to answer. She suspected, by looking into his tired eyes, that he was thinking of his talented, estranged daughter, living miles away in one of those booming, smoke-belching facilities. "Too may people misuse their knowledge…" he repeated, before trailing off. Perhaps his mind had gone hazy again, as it sometimes did.

Raine thought of her mother. Her profession, her research, her carefree attitude toward destruction. Was she a staunch nihilist, or realistic about what knowledge and technology was generally used for? Raine couldn't ask her now, so she probably would never know.

All she could do was try to not turn out like her.

*

At the height of her fifteenth summer, Raine got herself permission to stay overnight in the grand hall underneath the mountain. She did it enthusiastically, and she did it alone. She got there in the early afternoon, just in time to watch the hall light up with that brilliant gold she had seen when Lurian first took her there. She lay back on the stone floor, watching the hieroglyphs dance with shadows, and smiled.

It was her favorite thing, to be alone in the ancient ruins. It brought her closer to the temple's old inhabitants, without Lurian babbling abstract theories in one ear and Genis babbling complaints in the other. Maybe the Witches liked her better when she was alone—in their unique gynocentric way, maybe even now the Witches' spirits were exclusionary when it came to men. Either way, paradoxically, she felt less alone when in solitude. She felt like less of an orphan and more like the ancient coven's novitiate.

She swore she could see spirits dance in the light that flooded the hall every afternoon. But before she could make out their shapes or meanings, the hall went dark, and she lay down. She stared at the ceiling, trying to see if she could make something out of the moving shadows.

She gazed into darkness, eyes drooping, until the full moon rose.

Then something strange happened. The carved crevices in the walls began to glow a brilliant blue, and a sharp, energized air flowed through the hall. The hair on the back of her neck bristled, and she shivered, goosebumps rising on her flesh. She looked around, examining the glowing pillars surrounding her, and was suddenly flooded with such painful remembrances she had to gasp. She lay weakly back down on the floor, staring straight above her, unable to move.

_This… no… a place like this, a place just like this is where my mother left me. I remember…_

Large, glowing pillars, standing tall in the full moonlight. Of course it would be witchcraft that had transported her across the globe. Her mother would settle for nothing less.

_Impossible, the witches couldn't be spread out so far… not on the other side of the world like that…_

The patterns were remarkably similar to the ones tucked away in Raine's subconscious memory.

_Not the same magic, but similar… it must be…_

Raine's desperate attempt at trying to reason this whole thing out gave way to complete fascination, and she raised her eyes, receptive to any information she might gain from watching this miraculous display of ancient magic. She did not know how the pillars functioned, how the light came to be, or if this full moon exhibition was part of some ancient ritual. All she knew is that rumbling at the core of her memory was a night very long ago, when she first lost her parents.

They had drugged her. They had fed her something, a sort of narcotic, to make her weak, to ease her pain. She did not know if they gave it to Genis as well. She remembered those pillars, blurry, inexplicable, glowing in the moonlight with powerful magic.

She was half-dead, half-awake, barely listening. Her mind was so hazy she couldn't remember exactly what they had said.

Her father mentioned that he did not know if what they were doing would work or not. He didn't know if Raine would survive it.

"If she dies, she must die in comfort." He brewed an herbal concoction for her. It put her into a state more debilitating than sleep—she felt nothing, could remember very little, and cared not at all.

Her mother had been crying, a lot. She had never seen her mother cry before. "I want to leave her a letter or something," she said, trembling in the arms of her husband.

"No. It will be better if she forgets about us. She might have a chance that way."

So, at the moment of truth, it had been her father who was cold and practical. She had never thought him capable of it. Both of them, she could sense, were falling over themselves with grief. As far as they knew, their children were going to die. But they hoped that they might die peacefully.

Perhaps it was mercy, at that point. Perhaps it was better for them to die than slave away for the University. But to kill your own children was an act of cold bravery Raine couldn't help but admire somewhat.

_We lived, though. We lived._

_They sent us away, expecting us to die, but we didn't._

_And we will keep on living._

When the moon passed, Raine awoke from her stupor, numb. She trudged back to the cabin in the late morning and got into bed. She didn't emerge for days. She said nothing about the incident, instead choosing to mull over her memories, picking the incident of her abandonment apart in her head, searching for clues. Maybe, just maybe, if she could find that place again, she might get some answers. She might even find her family again. She seriously doubted it.

But something in the back of her mind nagged her to keep hoping, keep thinking that if only she could find them again and ask them why they did it, why they took such a big risk just to abandon their children, she might get a satisfactory answer. Something else, in the forefront of her mind this time, told her that she would never be able to do it. She would just have to be satisfied that her current circumstances could be worse. She would have to live with it.

For months she turned the situation of her abandonment over in her head. Lurian and Genis, who were both brilliant in their own ways but woefully insensitive, did not notice her downcast looks, her distracted silence. They behaved as they always had, and perhaps it was their consistency and normality that pushed Raine through this sensitive period of doubt. By the time winter had ended, she had resolved that one day, after she was grown, she would go find the place where she had been deserted.

And by that time she would've banished any resentment she harbored toward her parents. She would face her past with a clear heart and judgment unclouded by hate. She knew that her parents had made an unspeakably difficult decision. Before she grew up, she would have to focus on trying to forgive them. Or forget them completely. It wasn't going to be easy, but life went on, as it always did, and she would have to adjust, reassess, and adapt, as she always did.

For her sixteenth birthday Lurian and Genis made her a spiced cake. It was the best thing she'd ever tasted.


	14. Looming Adulthood

The summer breezes swayed the long grasses like waves on the ocean. It nauseated Raine slightly to look at the unending fields of water-like grass, but she quickly reminded herself that her feet were on firm ground, and that she was safe, far away from the ocean and any memories it may contain.

"You look like you're gonna barf, sis," Genis said.

"Just a passing thought," Raine answered. She tugged her backpack further up her shoulders and walked onward, in the footsteps of Lurian. They were on their way to Asgard, to pick up some supplies, and a small group of undergraduate students who had been consistently pestering Lurian to examine the ruins on his property.

"Goddamn administrators," Lurian grumbled nearly all the way to the city. "They think they can just brownnose the museum curator, send enough messenger pigeons my way and then steal my findings? Gods no. To hell with them." But he had given in, especially when he learned that none of the faculty would be accompanying the students on this trip. It seemed that he did not mind the inquisitive young students, just the old boys from his college days, those "greedy, high-and-mighty, know-it-all sons of bitches," as he called them.

It was Raine's first time to Asgard. The nearest farmstead was only a few hours walk away, so when supplies ran low Lurian would make the trek out to bring back a big bag of dairy products and cured meats and long-lasting winter vegetables. Other things they could gather from the garden when needed. But when it came to spices, kitchen utensils, sweets, and other rare finds, traveling all the way to Asgard was necessary. Previously, Lurian had made the trip alone, but he had been complaining of a bad back lately, and took Genis and Raine along to shoulder some of the weight and keep him company. Besides, Lurian had said that some of his no-good colleagues were busy restoring an ancient dais at the top of the hill overlooking the city, so Raine had been especially interested in the trip.

When they settled down by the side of the road to camp in the clement evening, Raine built a fire and Genis lit it. He was becoming so adept at his elemental magic that Raine worried his talent would outpace his maturation, and he would end up doing something disastrous with his power. When he wandered off into the grassland to relieve himself, Raine decided to break the topic with Lurian.

"I wish I could send him to school."

"Why can't you?"

"For one, he's a half-elf. No telling what the other children will do to him. For another, he might be too old to enroll. He's probably too clever for regular school anyway. And I'm not sending him away to the academy in Palmacosta." Especially not if they still employed a lively and enthusiastic lecturer that had been mysteriously blinded by some sort of tragic accident.

"Bah. He doesn't need school. You're a good enough teacher as it is."

Raine sighed. "I just wish I could teach him magic. The Witches' manuscripts are useful, but I wish I could demonstrate for him… I guess I just hate not being able to use elemental magic… just healing."

Lurian looked at her through the flames. "Don't sell yourself short, Raine. Light is an element, same as any other. It doesn't have to be used for healing, or support, or even _good_ , for that matter. You can still teach him a lot when it comes to magic—the forces at work, the balance, the techniques. Like fire or water, light has its place in the elemental circle. Darkness, too."

Raine stared at the crackling fire for a moment. "I once blinded a man with healing magic," she confessed.

Lurian stifled a snort. "Jilted lover?"

"Close."

"I would like to hear that story sometime."

"No, I really don't think you would."

Lurian recognized her dark tone of voice and turned away from the subject at hand. "My point is, girl, even if your magic is a little different from his, it doesn't mean you have nothing to teach him."

Raine sighed, unconvinced, and Genis returned from the wilderness. He sat down by the fire and resumed the omnipresent _click-click-click_ of his kendama. He remained silent, perhaps sensing that they had talked about him in his absence.

The next day they rose early and walked well into the afternoon, and Raine let out a sigh of relief when the low, squat outlines of Asgard's buildings came into view. The wind picked up as they approached the town, and Raine pulled her coat tighter to her, trying to keep her effects from flying away.

"All right," Lurian said as they approached a creaking, shabby-looking inn. "As far as I remember, this is the inn. This is our stop for tonight. We meet the students in the morning, then it's back to the homestead. I have to go meet with those leeches who call themselves my colleagues. You two have fun. Don't go crazy."

They checked in and settled into their room. Raine's legs still ached from the walk, but she wanted to explore the town, check out the museum and survey the progress on the restoration of the ancient wind god's dais.

"Genis. You ready to go out?"

"Yeah," he said. "You wanna meet up later?"

"No, Genis, you're five. You're not running off alone. You stick with me. We're going to the archeological site."

"I don't want to."

"Too bad."

Genis let out a pathetic wail as Raine picked him up around the waist and carried him from the inn, telling him to be quiet. Sometimes she couldn't believe that so tiny and petulant a creature could speak three languages and performed flawless arithmetic. For all his smarts, sometimes he could be such a child.

Raine sighed. She supposed she shouldn't expect too much from him. Being bright didn't make you grow up any faster. Hardship did that.

Raine set him on her shoulders as she walked down the street, and the sights and sounds and bustle of the town quieted him a little. Instead of whining, he preferred to watch the activity around him: the merchants selling wares, the tourists come to see the ancient ruins, the scholars and students and townspeople about their daily lives, studying or shopping or taking a walk. Raine was thankful that the commotion distracted Genis from his bad mood, so she was able to do her chores without having to argue with him or threaten to smack him around for misbehavior.

She stopped at a few vendors and bought what they needed—spices, cured meats, utensils, sugar, a new pair of socks for Genis. He pointed out a shiny new kendama on display behind the stall and began the begging process, but Raine was adept at outmaneuvering his pleas at this point, so they left the stall with only the necessities. Raine dropped her fare off at the inn before dragging Genis across town to view the work on the dais.

The spectacle was more or less what Raine expected. Since she had excavated countless little treasures just in the hills around her home, she knew the long and arduous process that monuments like this necessitated. There was a small group of enthusiasts, scholars and tourists gathering around the site, chatting and commenting and watching the painstaking uncovering of what seemed to be a large stage.

"Isn't it fascinating, Genis?" she asked her brother, who frowned.

"No."

Raine sighed. Perhaps when he was a little older and truly appreciated these sorts of things, she might be able to worm some approval out of him. But for now, she let him go, urging him to stick around, keep in sight, don't let a stranger take him anywhere, and for the love of the Goddess, _don't touch anything_. He nodded, smiling at his newfound freedom, and immediately began to wander.

Raine squished her way through the crowd to the front, and carefully laid her hands over the partition that separated the spectators from the project. She leaned over the side, looking over the shoulder of a youth, whom she presumed was a student, dusting off a small square of hieroglyphics.

Perhaps sensing that his personal space was being invaded by prying eyes, he instinctively turned his head. He maintained his kneeling position and awkwardly stared at Raine for a few moments before smiling.

"Does this stuff interest you?" he asked. He must've been a year or two older than Raine—she wasn't sure.

"Yes," she said. "Very much so."

The black-haired youth blew his bangs out of his eyes. "Sorry I can't let you past the ropes. Rules, you know? But I can tell you a bit about this, if you want." At Raine's slight, accommodating smile, he continued. "This message right here is a story about a falcon and a marmot, who are trying to outdo one another with riddles."

He was close, but not quite. Raine let him continue.

"The riddles that they ask each other all have to do with practical things, right? Like here, the falcon tries to trick the marmot into thinking that the season for planting is in the fall, but the marmot is quick to reply that when the wagon is low in the sky is the correct time. See?"

Raine blinked. "That's all wrong."

The youth looked taken aback, smile wiped clean. "I don't think so."

He seemed pretty confident. Raine apparently had some explaining to do. "Look there, see that symbol that's half-uncovered? You were working on cleaning it out. _That's_ the symbol that counts here. These aren't riddles, they're jokes. You know, for children. They're supposed to be laughed at because they're so ludicrous. The time for planting is when the wagon is low in the sky? No, the reader is supposed to look at it and realize that both animals are wrong—the wagon low in the sky is harvest time. And it's not a wagon, it's a carriage. You know, the kind for royalty, because it symbolizes bounty and wealth and fullness. And besides—"

Raine intended to finish her explanation, but a shriek of laughter that sounded disturbingly like Genis caught her ear. She lifted her head and saw his shock of white hair bouncing around the other side of the crowd. He was getting into mischief, no doubt.

Raine sighed and made a hasty retreat. "Excuse me," was all she said before she left the slack-jawed youth in her wake, chisel in one hand and dust brush in the other.

She pushed her way through the mob, and when she emerged on the other side, her benign suspicions turned out to fall short of reality. Raine suddenly wished that Genis _had_ been causing mischief, instead of standing between two Desian soldiers, laughing at their quips, gazing wide-eyed at their little demonstrations of magic. They bounced him between him like two older brothers, each trying to outdo the other with a tiny show of elemental stage magic. One was just displaying how he could coat his fingers in icicles when Raine ran up to them, sweating profusely.

"No, no, no, no, _no no no_ ," she whispered to herself as she approached. Genis caught her eye and smiled at her, as if delighted to show her that he'd made new friends.

"Forgive my brother," she said, grabbing his arm forcefully and dragging him away from the pair of Desians. Genis, disappointed that the fun was over, began to yell in protest.

"Hey there, don't be so hard on him," one of the Desians said, smiling.

"Yeah, he was just saying hi."

Raine bowed deeply, knowing that when Desians put on a front of being friendly and reasonable, something unfortunate was guaranteed to transpire. "I'm sorry, I really am, but you don't understand," she started. "There's something wrong with him. He's not right in the head."

Raine dragged a stuttering Genis away from his equally confused new friends and did not stop running until they were safely behind a building, out of sight.

"What did I tell you about them? About not talking to them?" Raine nearly screamed at him.

"I don't remember," Genis said, obviously lying.

Raine looked at his smug smile, his clever eyes, and couldn't help herself. She raised her hand and smacked Genis on the cheek so hard she left a hand-shaped welt. He stared at her, shocked for a moment, until tears welled in his eyes and he began to bawl.

Raine looked at his red cheek and her heart sank. She withdrew her hand and put it in her pocket, as if afraid it might strike her brother again without her consent. Her chest hurt just looking at his tearful gaze, listening to his hiccupy moans.

"Genis, I'm sorry," she said. She knelt down beside him as he cried. "I'm really sorry."

Genis mumbled something into his hands as he wiped his eyes.

"What?"

"I hate you."

Raine sighed. She should expect no less from a child. "You understand that I had to—"

"I hate you!" Genis repeated, louder.

"Genis, I am sorry. I know you might not believe me now, but I am." She leaned against the wall as her brother got on his knees and cried harder. She could practically see his face swell as they sat there. "How about we go back to the inn and get some soup? And on the way I'll get you that kendama you wanted."

Genis looked up at her. "Really?"

"Really. But you have to promise you'll never talk to Desians again."

Genis nodded, reluctantly. "I promise. But…"

"But what?"

"I still get to hate you. For a little bit."

"Deal."

*

When they got back to the inn, they found Lurian seated in the lobby, juggling the inquiries of three or four of his colleagues. Raine gave him a smile as she passed and dropped Genis off in the room with his new kendama. She promised to bring him something to eat, as long as he didn't show up in the lobby out of the blue with a face swollen like a balloon, talking nonsense about Desians and Raine's abuse.

She wondered what had drawn him to the Desians in the first place. Maybe he knew they were like him—half-elves seemed to have an uncanny ability to recognize their own kind. Maybe he was unconsciously attracted to the power they exuded. Maybe Raine's frightful theory had been right all along, that half-elves were so base and so naturally violent that they all turned into Desians eventually. She shook her head. It couldn't be that, but still, she worried for him, worried for how he might grow up to treat humans. She told herself that she might as well not fret about that now. She didn't exactly have the moral high ground at this point, having just struck her brother across the face.

Raine briefly sat down with Lurian and his colleagues, listening patiently, trying to distract herself from her brother's strange affinity for Desians. She was disappointed to discover that none of the men spoke of academics or discoveries—it was all about what faculty member did what scandalous thing, who was paid more, whose children got into what programs, what there was to do around town on the weekends. Raine quickly grew bored and decided to go get herself and Genis something to eat. She returned to the room, understanding a little why Lurian disliked his associates.

A few hours after dark, Lurian came stumbling into their room, sighing. Obviously he and the other men around his table had been imbibing generously throughout the evening.

"Gods almighty," he growled, sitting on his bed and kicking off his shoes. "I cannot _stand_ those morons."

"If it helps," Raine started. "Neither can I."

"Yeah, well, they're not your collaborators. You have no idea how lucky you are, Raine, to have no classmates. My advice: do everything alone. Everything important, that is."

If only Lurian knew how alone Raine had been her whole life.

He lay back on his bed and released a breathy burp. He glanced over at the two of them, sitting on the bed, Raine nursing Genis' swollen face. "Heh. Looks like your sister gave you a stern talking to." But Lurian, never one to pry, lay back and closed his eyes. He yawned. "Selina, remember to wake me up in the morning."

"I'm Raine." Sometimes, when he was tired, Lurian forgot things.

"Of course. Break of dawn, we're setting out with the students. This old man will just take care not to wake up dead."

*

"Shoulda woken up dead." Lurian clutched his head, presumably hungover, as they watched the group of eager students approach. "Everyone," he smiled, not very convincingly. "Ready to go?"

A few shy nods, some tired affirmatives.

"All right. Well, uh, this is my daughter." He gestured toward Raine. "And her little brother. They'll be coming with us."

"Doesn't that make him your son?" one of the students asked, apparently thinking himself clever.

"I don't know, you figure it out. You're the goddamn scholar."

The student lost his smirk and fell into line behind them as they made their way toward the valley where Lurian lived, and toward the ancient ruins.

Just Raine's luck—among the eager young students off to see the Witches' temples was the raven-haired boy she had impolitely corrected at the restoration site the day before. He strode up to her, startling her half to death when he called out a cheerful greeting.

"Hey there!" he said, and she turned. She frowned, as she usually did when greeting a stranger.

"Hello," she said, trying to sound amiable. Since the students were going to be in her close vicinity for a few weeks, it was probably best to be on good terms with them.

"I didn't know you were the professor's daughter."

"Neither did I," Raine said under her breath.

"What was that?"

"I said it's true."

"So no wonder you know so much about this stuff, huh?"

Raine shrugged.

"Look, I appreciate you correcting me about that one hieroglyph. It sure saved me some embarrassment when I reported my findings to my supervisor." He laughed, and Raine noticed he had a sincere, perfect smile. "I'm sorry I was condescending earlier."

"Condescending?"

"You know, when I just assumed you didn't know anything about the ruins, when clearly you did. Sorry about that."

Raine blinked. "Oh. Uh. No problem."

"My name's Enos. Enos Mithos Lozano."

"That's a ridiculously dignified name," Raine told him, and he chuckled.

"Well, what's yours?"

"My name?"

"Of course."

"Raine."

"Raine what?"

"Just Raine." Raine realized, not for the first time, that she never knew Lurian's last name. Or perhaps Lurian _was_ his last name, in which case she'd never known his first.

"Okay, Just Raine," Enos said. "I'll see you around." He flashed her a smile and stepped back into the group of his classmates. Raine watched him jostle and chuckle with them, and for a moment wished she had her own cabal of comrades with whom she could discuss things and laugh and share memories.

It took her a moment to realize that what she really wanted was a friend. But she knew better than to hope for one.

*

"That young man, what's-his-face, he's quite fond of you, you know," Lurian said to her one night, when the students had gone to bed and it was only her and the old man, as usual, staying awake and drinking tea.

"He should be more fond of his work," Raine said. As much as she had initially liked Enos, she found that hanging around him and all his liveliness was draining. He would follow her around, and even when she hinted that his presence was unwanted, he would continue to pester her, asking for her opinions and whether or not she was going to come out into the field with them that day, or the next, or the next...

"You're what now, seventeen?"

"Sixteen."

"Whatever. You're young. You should go explore relationships. Have some fun. Get plastered and make a big mistake. It's how everyone does it."

"I hope not," Raine sighed. Obviously Lurian wasn't going to be of any help. Enos' devotion to her company had grown so much that she sometimes took to wandering off alone into the wilderness just to escape his affectionate chatter. She had nothing against him really, he was perfectly polite, quite a nice person, intelligent… she really couldn't think up a reason that she had taken to avoiding him so earnestly.

Lurian, apparently didn't understand either. "Give him a chance, Raine. He's a brilliant kid, just like you. He's just a little more extroverted, is all."

Raine sighed, but couldn't help absorbing his words. "I'll stay in tomorrow and cook dinner for when you all get back," she suggested, to Lurian's dismay.

"Gods, girl, you'll kill us. No, leave the cooking to Genis. I hate to say this, but he's a better cook at five than you'll be at fifty."

Raine conceded that point. She would probably burn the house down if she tried to fry an egg. So the next morning, along with all the other students, she went out into the field to guide them around the temples, to help them understand and uncover what they needed to.

Enos, as always, was attentive and asked excellent questions. She figured his unshakable respect for her was forged on the day she had leaned over the partisan and corrected his interpretation of ancient writing. She flashed him a smile every once in a while, just to reassure him that if anything, she was at least appreciating his diligence. Lurian's words about giving him a chance echoed in her head while she spent time with him, exploring the ruins, and slowly, over the next few weeks, she found herself growing fond of him.

Often they would stay up late, wandering by torchlight, deciphering stories and exploring the ruins. While the other students slept, Raine and Enos would stay awake, sometimes into the early morning, just learning. He had an appetite for knowledge almost as voracious as Raine's. She would teach him the dozens of different interpretations of a single word, and the best part was that he would remember them. Even Genis sometimes had trouble with a definition going in one ear and out the other, but she attributed it to the fact that he was a child. Enos was clever and mature enough to be a serious, devoted student, and Raine was sure he'd make a great archeologist one day.

After a while, she had gotten used to Enos' presence, so when it came time for the students to make their way back to Asgard and continue their formal schooling, it almost came as a surprise. While the other students prepared for the return, packing their bags and getting some shut-eye, she and Enos sat on the crest of a foothill, watching the summer sky pass overhead.

"I can't believe it's a carriage, not a wagon," Enos said, leaning back to watch the stars.

"Why?"

"Well, you look at the ruins here and you think to yourself about how rural it is, how… I guess… _impoverished_ it seems from this day and age. It sometimes gets hard to remember that these ancient people weren't so different from us. They had their royalty, their laws, their social systems, probably their own sports, you know?"

"That's an interesting way to think about it. I also think that we shouldn't assume that those from the past are just like us, however. The lenses through which they viewed the world were much different from ours. We don't even really know if we're interpreting their artifacts correctly."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when we find a statue of what looks to us like a goddess, we assume that these ancient people must've worshipped it as one, but that's not necessarily true. Likewise, if we find depictions of something mundane, like agriculture or sex or everyday life, we might think that these are unimportant, because that's how _we_ view them, at least, next to the goddess. But maybe it's that these mundane things that matter most, and the goddess is just for decoration. That goddess may have just been a woman who was a magistrate or a leader, or perhaps the sculptor's mother or something. Maybe she's just a character from a legend. What if, in a couple thousand years, archeologists will uncover our statues of Mithos and assume we worshipped him as a god? What if they find portraits of governor-generals and mayors and think that they must've been great heroes or deities? If one thing's for sure, it's that we generally do accumulate misconceptions when looking back at the past. Even our hindsight's poor."

Enos blinked at her. "Gods, Raine, you're so smart."

"Not really—"

She wasn't able to finish because suddenly his mouth was on hers. She instinctively drew back, but Lurian's advice echoed in her head, and she figured that perhaps just this once, she could give him a chance.

*

When Raine arrived back at Lurian's cabin, the old man was sitting at the table, as usual, sipping tea. Silently, with an almost indiscernible limp, she made her way to the table and sat down across from him.

"Is there any more tea?" she asked.

He examined her, the look on her face, her tight-lipped half-cringe, then stood to fetch her some. "Is there something you want to talk about?" he asked.

Raine thought for a moment. What would she tell him? That there was something wrong with her? That she had had her first encounter with actual adulthood and it was awful? That during the moment which was supposed to be intimate and life-changing, all she thought about was how she could be getting _paid_ for that sort of thing? How she felt dirty, embarrassed, like the whole thing had been an awkward waste of time?

"The mosquitoes are awful out there," she said, not untruthfully. Her back was riddled with bites.

Lurian handed her the tea and sat down, looking at her with his knowing, wise, but occasionally forgetful gaze, and she could tell he was figuring out what she was thinking.

"Well, romance isn't all it's cracked up to be," he said. "I'm sorry I suggested it."

"I'll say," Raine sighed. "It's not that Enos is not a good person—in fact, he's kind, considerate, smart, good-looking, so I don't understand why I didn't enjoy spending… romantic time with him. There must be something wrong with me."

Lurian looked at his tea, smiling a little. "Maybe he isn't your type."

"But he _should_ be. He's pretty much all I can ask for in a friend… a boy."

Lurian glanced up at her, almost smugly. "Are you sure you're not fonder of women?"

Raine looked at him. Of course, since she was eleven, she'd spent most of her time in the company of women, so it would only make sense that… oh, _that's_ what he was talking about. "That's… an awfully forward question to ask, especially for an old man."

Lurian shrugged. "Life's too short to beat around the bush, madam."

Raine sighed. "I've never… thought about it."

"Well, you do know that for the Asgard Witches, it was quite common. For women to choose the sexual company of other women, I mean. For them, reproduction involved men of course, but love, real love, was between two women."

Raine laughed. "I suppose those ladies had good taste."

"Good taste indeed. Look, Raine, I won't judge you for the people you love. Except if they're assholes. But honestly I wouldn't mind if you ended up having different tastes. All my daughters grew up to be man-lovers and look what it got them."

"What did it get them?"

" _Husbands_." He said the word with distaste. "Families. Obligations. My advice: find yourself a nice, educated girl and have her keep notes for you. Never take a husband. Believe me, I was one once. I was a very, very bad husband. Don't fall into that trap." Lurian swirled his tea, seemingly thinking about something else completely.

Raine briefly recollected her experiences with the opposite sex. At the Sea Witch, especially as she got older, men's presence only meant inconvenience at best, and at worst, harm. She supposed she had been exposed only to the worst of them, and that she didn't have a good enough sample size to make a serious judgment about them as a whole.

She thought of Etta, of the other women, of the girls that had left her love notes when she had been disguised as a street boy. She tried to recall if she had ever felt a tinge of something that was more than sisterly affection for any of them, of any sort of semblance of a crush, but she didn't remember. She wondered if she'd felt any love for the professor that had tried to buy her, but she knew she would never know, since she could only look back at his memory with disgust.

"It's funny," Raine started. "I might've always known that the only boy I would ever truly love is my baby brother."

Luran looked up at her from his tea. "What were we talking about again?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Nothing," Raine answered. "You're tired, go to bed."

"If you insist." He got up.

"And Lurian? If Enos comes looking for me tomorrow, make sure he doesn't find me. I'm planning on falling ill."

Lurian smiled. "Yes ma'am."

"And Lurian?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For being forward. For being rude, and kind. And everything. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Raine."


	15. The Moon and Memories

In the three years since that fateful night when she was fourteen, Raine had not seen any of the Witches' ruins glow with the magic light of the full moon. She had returned to the grand hall beneath the mountain dozens of times since then, never missing a full moon, but the display of grand lights that she had seen before never returned. She visited the observatory several times, trying to figure out if the phenomenon was astronomically related, but she didn't find any information that would tell her. In a way, she was relieved. She was afraid to discover that those glowing lights only appeared every thousand years or so, when the planets aligned just right. At least in her ignorance, she could hope that she would stumble upon the strange occurrence again, and it would teach her something about how she had ended up in this country to begin with.

She had never been sure if she even wanted to know how she got to this place. But the implacable curiosity inside her would not truly be sated until she found out. She was a scientist and learner by nature—stifling her questions, especially ones as big as this, only made them grow inside her, until they became nearly painful to think about. She knew that she would not rest until she found out how her mother had managed to abandon her so thoroughly, and why.

But, like any scientist should be, she was patient. She could wait, she could keep the question stored in the back of her mind until the opportune moment, when enough evidence presented itself. She would have to learn to live with failures and debunked theories and improper methods, just like every other inquisitive seeker of knowledge.

So Raine started to plan for her future. As she walked home in the light of the setting full moon, bundled in her thick coat, she sifted through possible scenarios. Spring was almost upon them and her eighteenth birthday was looming right around the corner. Genis was growing restless and destructive in his untapped genius. Lurian was growing more forgetful by the day. She would have to account for all these things when she finally came up with a plan.

But that was later. For now, she needed to focus on getting home before her fingers froze off in the late winter chill. "Gods, if it's going to be this cold, it might as well snow," she mumbled to herself, breath dissipating into the night air in a white puff. Raine quite liked the snow. It reminded her that she was far away from Palmacosta.

Occasionally she would wonder about Etta. She tried not to think about her, but sometimes, when she lay awake pondering about this and that, the woman would reappear in her mind. She was always sad, always too skinny, always clutching her underfed son to her chest. Gods above, Candle must be seven or eight by now. The thought chilled Raine more than the actual cold could. The way the years passed, inexorably, cruelly, always made her uncomfortable.

_Time marches on,_ she thought. _There's nothing_ _we can do about that, no matter how we try._

Raine thought about revisiting Palmacosta, a number of times. But there was nothing there for her, now that Etta was gone. Unless she had returned to her old life at the brothel, but in that case, it would probably be best if Raine did not show up to remind her of her betrayal. Besides, Raine didn't want to know if Etta returned to that life, and staying away from Palmacosta was the best way she could never find out.

Raine could move onto Asgard, do some studies there, or help upkeep the dais which was now on display for tourists. She could work as a researcher for the school there, or at the museum, or even curate the Balacruf Mausoleum. That would be a future she could look forward to, for a change. Her only problem was that the place was crawling with Desians, and they were sophisticated enough to recognize another half-elf. She was resigned to the fact that she had to build her future either somewhere so rural that no Desians ever visited, or someplace that successfully banned Desians from entering the town. Raine realized, not without a touch of irony, that what she needed were some good old-fashioned discrimination laws.

She could take advantage of them if she could convince others she was an elf. Lurian was cleverer than most, but humans generally couldn't tell the difference. Not the same way that half-elves could.

When Raine approached the cabin, she could see smoke coming from the chimney, and grumbled to herself. It was far too late for anyone to be up; Lurian must've gone to bed and forgotten to put out the fire again. She wiped her feet before entering, ready to survey the damage any rogue flames had caused. She did not look forward to having to wake Genis up to get him to put out the fire with some water magic. It always put him in a sour mood, and he could really be a brat when he was in a sour mood.

To Raine's surprise, the fire was not burning by itself. Sitting by the flame, hands folded across his lap, sat Lurian.

"Burning the candle at both ends, I see," she said, removing her scarf and coat and shaking out her long hair. It shimmered gold in the firelight.

"You too, I see," Lurian said, unsmiling. He didn't seem to be in a good mood. Raine sat down opposite him and he looked at her with a critical eye. "Where did you go?" he asked.

"Just to the grand temple ruins. I go there every full moon. You know this."

"You should've told me before you left."

"I _did_. You just don't remember." Raine tried to be gentle with him. As he grew older, he looked more and more fragile. She was amazed that such radical changes could take place over such a short period of time. Raine remembered it was a saying among elf-kind that when humans went downhill, they went downhill fast.

Lurian looked at his feet, with what may have been shame. Raine got up. She noticed that Lurian had put a kettle on the stove, but forgot to light a fire under it. She boiled some water, sighing.

"Do you ever sleep anymore?" he asked her.

"Not really," Raine replied. Sleep was a luxury that her active mind would rarely afford her.

"Neither do I. I thought old geezers were supposed to sleep all day."

"Plenty of time for sleep when you're dead, I suppose," Raine said. She sat across from him, sliding a mug of tea his way.

"Aye. When I'm dead." He brought the tea to his lips but didn't drink it. Instead, he stared into the cup's depths like some secret was hidden down there. "What will you do? When I'm dead, I mean."

Raine sighed. He may be losing his memory, but he still had an uncanny instinct. He could always tell what she had been thinking about, minutes, hours, before she even saw him. Avoiding the subject now would only offend him. "I don't know. I was thinking I'd go to Asgard. But…"

"But? Asgard seems perfect."

Raine remembered Genis dangling between the arms of two Desian guards. That had been the first time she had struck him, but she was sure it wouldn't be the last. "Well, it's just…"

"Was it that boy? The one who came to visit?"

Raine was surprised Lurian remembered Enos. She had nearly forgotten him, and she was the one who was most involved with him. He hadn't sent any letters (not like he could, with no postal service going out there), and he hadn't shown up at their door since. He had remained silent, moved on, just like Raine. She secretly thanked him for it. "No. It's not that. It's that I'd like to keep Genis away from Desians, if possible."

Lurian raised his eyebrows at her, and she sighed.

"He has this… I don't know, unconscious fascination with them. He doesn't mean to, or maybe he does, but he always ends up hanging around with them. I think he might even _like_ them." Raine glanced at the stairwell just to make sure that Genis wasn't lingering at the bottom, eavesdropping. "I don't want him to associate with them. I don't want him to turn out like them, but he always finds his way into their company, somehow."

Lurian sighed. "It's only natural. He knows they're like him."

"We are _nothing_ like them." Raine's tone betrayed her uncertainty. She _hoped_ , at least, they were nothing like them.

"My daughter is working in one of those ranches, you know."

"I do know. You've told me." About a hundred times.

"Iselia. Or Palmacosta. I can't remember. But she was just like Genis growing up. Smart, talented, unsure of her place in the world. She didn't understand why she was different from her sisters, different from me. Well, that was my fault. Or her mother's. Or both."

"What's your point?"

"My point? Oh, uh…" He thought for a minute. "My point is that kids get lost sometimes. They're attracted to people who are like them, or people with power, but Genis is smart. He'll learn. He'll see through their facades. Even if he finds himself employed at the ranch, he won't stay for long. He'll grow out of it, because even though he might be a fiery little shit right now, there's wisdom in him."

Raine looked deep into her tea. "I hope."

"You hope what?"

"I hope Genis has wisdom in him."

"Oh. He does."

Raine closed her eyes. She heard Lurian heave a sigh.

"Raine."

"What?"

"Where did you go that you were out so late?"

*

Now whenever Raine went to the temple ruins, it was alone. Lurian could not make the trip. His legs, his back, his everything was too fragile. But his mind was the worst. Whatever scripts and texts and artifacts she brought back with her on her outings were met with nothing but confusion. He couldn't juggle the multifaceted languages anymore, he couldn't recognize the shapes of the totems or even make out the fine print on the scrolls. Instead, he liked to sit by the fire and watch Raine sort through her treasures, taking notes and scribbling down sketches.

"I wish I could still remember how to translate that stuff," he said, looking over her shoulder at a particularly long piece of poetry she was busy sorting through.

"It'll come back," Raine replied automatically, thoughtlessly.

Lurian released a hopeless sigh. "Don't lie to me."

Raine looked up from her work, into his eyes, and saw a peculiar kind of sadness in them.

"I'm losing it. I'm losing everything." Lurian tore his gaze from Raine and stared into the fire. After a minute, he began to speak, more to himself than to her. "With every piece of my mind I lose, I lose a piece of me. It's like everything is slipping away, over the edge of some cliff, and I can't catch it. If I try too hard I'll slip over the edge myself." He looked up at Raine. "I know I forget too much, Raine. Never forget too much. Memory is the most precious thing you have."

Raine sighed. "I confess, I've spent my whole life trying to outrun my memories."

Lurian tilted his head. "Continue," he said, and Raine knew instinctively that she should obey.

"When I was a kid, in Palmacosta, almost every day I would go down to the harbor. It was hard for me, because I was terrified of the ocean—I still am. But for me, the ocean erased everything, it destroyed everything. So I would gather my memories in my head, and when I was sure I had them all collected, I would blow them out to sea."

Lurian blinked. "And did any of them leave you?"

"No."

"Then they're meant to stay. Are you disappointed?"

"That I couldn't forget? Maybe. Maybe I was afraid of what I might remember. Maybe I would remember that my mother really didn't love me, so she dumped me and my brother like trash. To be honest, I would rather not live in the shadow of those memories, real or not. I would rather lose this… bizarre drive I have to know whether or not my mother really did hate us." She didn't mention the glowing blue streaks in the witch's ruins that so reminded her of the place where she was sure she was abandoned. Lurian would probably not retain that information anyway, or do anything useful with it. "I do not want to dwell on the past. I want to move forward."

"You don't have to forget to move forward, Raine. Gods, memory is invaluable, _especially_ if you want to move on. Don't take it for granted, and for Martel's sake, don't try to get rid of it. Memories are what makes us who we are, they're what allow us to learn and achieve and drive ourselves. Even if they are painful. For every fact, every recollection I lose, I watch a part of who I am slip away."

Raine's retort died in her throat.

"I might seem old and senile and stupid, but I know what's going on. I have moments where I know, I just _feel_ , that I'm falling apart. Sometimes I'm able to see what I look like, to really hear what I say. It's like exiting your home and looking back, and seeing that it's been overrun with weeds and vines and is crumbling with age. And you never noticed because you were stuck inside. Except sometimes, when you're able to escape, only briefly… and you see…" He trailed off, and Raine didn't have the heart to bring him back on topic.

"Archeology is just memories," he said, following a different vein of conversation. "You get to witness the memories of ancient civilizations. You get to uncover what they wished to treasure. The images that you conjure in your mind by looking at their artifacts connects you to them in an intimate way. Their memories become yours, and that's what learning and teaching is all about. Passing them on. Because that's all it is, that's all anything is. Memories. Recollections…

"Promise me, Raine. Promise me you won't go throwing your memory away. Because that's the same thing as throwing your mind away."

Raine gulped. "Okay."

"Don't ever throw your mind away. It's the greatest asset you have."

"I won't. I promise."

At Raine's words, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Good. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep." Within a minute he was snoring loudly.

When Raine glanced at his face, she could see a thin smile hovering on his lips.

*

On Raine's eighteenth birthday, Genis and Lurian made her a fruitcake. Or Genis did, because Lurian could no longer find his way around the kitchen.

"Where are the goddamn candles?" he nearly screamed, and Genis opened the drawer for him. He pulled them out and arranged them clumsily on the cake, where they slumped pathetically. There were only five, since the others had gone missing or were burned straight through from previous birthdays.

Lurian had managed to stand the candles upright, but when he was given a match to light them, he could not remember how to do it.

Genis set fire to the lot with a small flame spell.

Lurian had to guess how old Raine was turning.


	16. Artifacts

Genis had set the garden on fire again. And after Raine had finished smacking him around, she retreated to her room and stared out the window, trying to see if crying would make her feel better. She never found out, because no matter how hard she tried to summon a tear, none ever came. She figured she had given up crying the night of her fourteenth birthday. After all, it didn't help. It wouldn't help Lurian get any younger. It wouldn't make Genis any happier.

He had begun what Raine could only call a rampage, characterized by his destructive behavior, his fits, his yelling, screaming, his throwing magic around in tantrums. He almost burnt the house down. He felled a few trees, he broke windows, he threw food, he behaved like a caged animal. And, to some degree, that's exactly what he was. Raine understood that. She understood his maddening drive to learn, explore, to practice magic, to make his own way in the world and cultivate his own intelligence and personality. He had no school, he had no friends, he had no goals, nowhere to go, no one his own age he could talk to. He was bored as hell and moody to match.

Raine could understand why he behaved as he did. She had been lonely in her youth, and she had been surrounded by people. She couldn't imagine how hard it must be to grow up alone, nursing an intellect like Genis', unable to apply it to anything. She knew she should send him to school, send him to Asgard to make friends, to study, to find a task and succeed at it.

But the thought of him playing with those Desians held her back. She would rather he be bored and miserable than turn into a killer. Although, she didn't know how much more of this isolation Genis could take. She didn't know how much of it _she_ could take.

Lurian mostly sat by the fire these days. It was his favorite and most convenient place to fall asleep, since he couldn't use the stairs anymore. During the day he would stare into the flames, perhaps trying to recognize them as something familiar. Perhaps he was deep in his own head, reliving his entire life, analyzing it, watching it progress before his eyes, all in preparation for death. Maybe his mind was somewhere else completely.

Raine had to feed him, dress him, clean him after he soiled himself—it was just like taking care of Genis when he was a baby. Raine thought often about the strange, circular nature of life and death; how there seemed to be an inevitable reversion to an infantile state during old age. Although, some people are sharp until the end of their lives. And some babies are born brilliant, like poor Genis.

Her little brother seemed to find solace in cooking, which was a lifesaver, since Lurian didn't have the faculties to cook and Raine didn't have the talent. Whenever he was done preparing a meal, Genis would eat solemnly at the edge of the table and watch in silence as Raine spoon-fed Lurian. Meals could take hours.

One time, when whatever disintegration inside Lurian's brain was still in its infancy, she tried to use her healing magic on him. She thought if she could heal injured flesh, she could heal an injured memory. But after a few minutes of sending light through his temples, he reached up and pulled her hands away. In one of his rare moments of lucidity, he assured her that what she was doing was pointless.

"There's no use delaying the inevitable," he said, smiling at her. He had so many wrinkles she had never noticed before.

_But that's life,_ she wanted to say. _That's all there is to life. Delaying the inevitable._

"The brain is a mysterious bastard. It doesn't work like that. You can't repair the connections its lost just by sending a few pulses of magic through it."

Raine wanted to shout at him. How did he know? Why did he think he was so smart, and where did he get off doubting Raine's healing prowess?

He had turned out to be right, as usual. Raine gave up that endeavor and decided to wait with him, until that unfathomable thing they called death would descend on him and take him away from her forever.

Raine began to look through his personal documents. She would spend hours in his little library, snooping around, opening letters, looking over pictures, reading his books and notes. She found that he had kept a leather diary, a messy, hastily-scrawled thing, keeping track not of his dreams or feelings, but of the things he discovered in the ruins. So it was less of a diary and more of a field notebook, although the cover said otherwise. It had been given to him by his wife, dozens of years ago, as a birthday gift.

"To my dear husband," Raine read the neat handwriting on the inside cover. "This is for you to sort yourself out. Do not neglect it. Love, Agatha."

Raine could read in between the lines enough to know that around the time the gift was given, their marriage must've been falling apart. She sighed. She wondered what it would've been like to have been married to Lurian. She imagined he would've been quite a handful.

"What are you doing?"

Raine looked up to the doorway to see Genis standing there, watching her snooping.

"This is Lurian's stuff," he said. "You can't just sneak through it."

"Lurian won't mind," she replied. "I know this might be hard for you to understand, but… I believe this is necessary. Especially since…" she didn't want to broach the subject with him.

"Since he's gonna die soon?" Genis crossed his arms. "I know. I'm not stupid, Raine. I understand."

"So you might realize why I need to do this."

Genis entered the room and sat across from her, between two mountains of books. He crossed his legs and folded his hands, putting an elbow on each knee and leaning forward. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Then why are you looking?"

"I don't know."

"I thought you knew everything."

"Genis, if you're going to be a brat, you can do so elsewhere."

"Fine." He stood. "Whatever you find won't make him live any longer, you know. He's still gonna die."

"I know that, Genis."

She thought she saw his lip tremble as he stormed out. She suspected that unlike her, he had retained the ability to cry.

Genis had not yet adjusted to the reality of mortality. After all, he was only eight, what could she expect from him? Immediate acceptance of the death of the closest thing to a father he'd ever had?

Despite her pity for her little brother, she was relieved to be left alone. She could sort more easily through Lurian's effects, read faster in the quietness that solitude offered her. After a few hours of shuffling through his papers, she came across a bundle of letters from his family, or what was once his family. Suddenly, she knew what she should do. She had a goal, for the first time in a long while.

Some of the letters had the addresses of the senders on them, although they had to be delivered to the communal office in Asgard. She did not know if the addresses were recent, or even still existed, but she copied them down anyway. She searched for some clean paper and sat herself down to write.

She stared at the wall for a while, trying to decide what she'd say. Eventually, she wrote to Lurian's wife Agatha:

_Agatha,_

_I regret to inform you_

She rethought her introduction. It sounded like she was a tax collector. She began again.

_Agatha,_

_You do not know me. We have never had the pleasure of meeting, but I have been living with your former husband for five years now. For all this time, he has been nothing but kind to me, and has treated me as one would treat a daughter. So it is with great sadness that I have to inform you of his condition. He has been declining for some years now, and is near the end. I am writing to let you know that although you do not have an obligation to return to visit him, the act would be much appreciated. It is difficult to determine how much time he has left._

_All my condolences,_

_Raine Sage_

When Raine remembered Lurian's real feelings about his wife, she crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. The last thing Lurian needed was the woman he probably never loved coming to make his last seconds miserable.

Instead, Raine wrote to his children. To four of the five daughters, one in Triet, one in Izoold, two in Palmacosta, she wrote very much the same thing, replacing "husband" with "father" and using somewhat of a more familiar tone.

To the youngest daughter, however, she wrote something different.

_Selina,_

_I do not know if letters, especially letters from human communities, ever make it to the ranches. I can only hope that this letter will find its way into your hands by some miracle or another. Since I have heard that you are a forthright individual with little patience for platitudes, I will cut straight to the point. Your father is dying._

_You don't know me, but your father often mistakes me for you. It is not just our physical similarities that trick his mind, however. He has been losing his memory for years and has, in a way, lost his sense of time. Sometimes he believes I am you, and speaks to me as if I am you. That's how I know how surely and deeply he cares for you. He talks endlessly of you. It is unavoidably clear that he wishes to see you, just once, before he dies. And so I am sending this to you in the hopes that you'll find the time to come visit him before that happens._

_I am quite confident that by the time this letter reaches you, one of your sisters will have already arrived here and relieved me as sole caretaker of your father. Since I will probably be gone by the time you arrive at your father's property, I will be quite candid._

_I am a half-elf, just like you. And as such, I have suffered myriad indignities, just like you. I look quite like you. I know this because when I was searching through your father's possessions, I came across a picture of you. To my surprise, and to some degree my consternation, I found that I recognized you. We have met before, although you may not remember._

_Five years ago, you assisted my brother and me when we were stranded at the House of Martel between Palmacosta and Hakenosia. You secured us a room and a meal, and reassured us that you would take us to the Palmacosta human ranch, where we would be safe. Although your actions may have saved the lives of both my brother and me, I am not sure if I can thank you. The violent and supercilious way in which you conducted yourself frightened me, but what frightened me more was the way my brother seemed to so naturally condone and even admire your actions. That's why I left in the night. I do not want to end up like you, and even more so, I do not want my little brother to end up like you. Your father, too, has expressed to me that he hopes for nothing more than for you to abandon your current habits and return to him._

_I do not know if you lied to me when you said you had a little sister at the ranch to keep me company. Perhaps she is an adopted sibling, or perhaps Lurian had another half-blood daughter that he did not tell me about for reasons of his own. What I suspect, however, is that she was a wishful fantasy. I believe you hoped I could be that younger sister you never had, and that promises of meeting a girl my own age would lure me into your company. I also believe that while what you told me may have been an untruth, you were sincere in your intentions. I believe you honestly thought my brother and I would be much safer and happier at a ranch than in human civilization. I do not know if you lied, but I can wholly understand why you would._

_I understand the sort of loneliness that necessarily accompanies being a half-elf in this world. I come from a country where half-elves are treated worse than livestock, so I understand the plight of humans in this one. Regardless, they have exploited and maltreated and shunned me because of my race. I know that loneliness well._

_I'm quite certain that you are like me in that you are unsure why the two races responsible for our very existence reject us. They are at fault, as we carry blood from both, yet they both deny us a place in their communities. It is somewhat like being abandoned by both parents at once. I know personally what that feels like. There is an element of betrayal that one cannot overlook, no matter how one wishes to. We will never be like them, we will never be accepted by them. Even though in one country we are treated like dirt and in another we maintain superior status, we will never outrun the overarching knowledge that humans and elves, those of pure blood, will always have the moral high ground. No matter what we do and how we behave, we cannot avoid the guilt and self-loathing instilled in us at birth. We have wronged the world by simply being born, and there is nothing we can do to change that._

_Your father takes the blame for your existence. He regrets having chosen a different mother for you than Agatha, and repeats often that if he had only been a better husband and father, you may have been born pure-blooded. Then, he insists, you wouldn't have had to turn to the Desians for company. He is the only person I have known to feel contrition for bringing up a child whom he knew would face discrimination. My parents never apologized, and as far as I know, they never felt guilt. They were proud that I had been born the way I was. And in that, I suppose, they were thoughtless._

_So, for the sake of a man who has treated us both as a father should, I insist you return here to at least say your farewells. You cannot stay in the cruel company of Desians forever. I know this because if you are truly Lurian's daughter, you have a streak of kindness in you that you cannot outrun. Your father loves you, and misses you greatly. Please come home._

_Yours,_

_Raine_

Raine lowered her pen and thought for a moment. Once she had begun writing, she hadn't stopped to consider her words until the very end. She found that she had poured her heart out to a woman she would probably never meet again. Not that she cared, particularly. She said what needed to be said, and if that meant going into her own personal history for the sake of bringing home a woman whom she did not even like, so be it. It wasn't for her, anyway. It was for Lurian.

Raine folded the letters and slipped each of one into its own neatly addressed envelope. There was a lump of old sealing wax in the back of one of the drawers, so she warmed it above a candle and plopped a dollop on each of the envelopes, where the wax glinted like drops of blood. There was no seal to be found, so she licked her thumb and pressed it to each letter, ignoring the mild ache of heat that reddened her skin.

She stacked the letters in one of the smaller drawers of his desk and stood, stretching. She realized that she had been writing for the better part of the last two hours, so she decided to go downstairs to check on Lurian.

As usual, he sat by the fire, staring into the flames. He didn't have too much to say nowadays, but whenever he saw Raine he would smile, and occasionally attempt to crack a joke. Often they fell short of his expectations, since by the time he was halfway to the punchline he'd forget what he was talking about.

"Evening, darling," he said when she came downstairs.

"Evening, Lurian."

"Shouldn't it be about dinnertime? Where's the kitchen elf?"

By kitchen elf he meant Genis. Whenever Genis' name slipped his mind, he'd rely on creative descriptors to get his point across. Raine quite appreciated them. "Laundry gnome," was one of her favorites. "Scrubby midge" was another.

"He's in his room. Are you hungry?"

Lurian nodded and looked back to the fire. Raine sighed and trudged back upstairs, knocking on the door to Genis' tiny room. It had once been a closet, but when he was six he demanded that he have his own room, like her. She often wondered how Lurian had fit so many of his children in this measly little cabin. That may have been one of the reasons they all left.

"Genis?"

"What?"

She opened the door and found him sitting on his bed, seemingly doing nothing at all. Perhaps he had been thinking, perhaps practicing a spell.

"Do you want dinner?" she asked. "I can make it for you."

That was the best way for Raine to get Genis into the kitchen—offer to make food for him.

"No, I'll do it," he said. "Your cooking is crap."

"Don't be rude, Genis."

He scoffed and slid off his little bed. As he trudged down the hall, Raine turned back to his room. She looked it over, its narrow shape, its low ceiling, its small window, and it reminded her of her room back in the Sea Witch. She wondered if Genis chose this place to sleep because deep down, in his subconscious memory, he was reminded of his infancy. She closed the door behind her and followed her brother downstairs, where he was sorting through pots and pans.

"Evening, darling," Lurian said.

"Evening, Lurian."

*

Raine decided to send the letters on her next trip to Asgard for supplies. It seemed like they would run out of sugar in about a week, the way Genis was wasting it on pastries and cakes and muffins and all sorts of hedonistic snacks. She figured he might be retreating into his wastefully elaborate recipes to distract himself from the inevitability of Lurian's demise. Raine could not say that she wasn't similarly retreating into her books and studies.

She would often stay up all night, as she always did, reading. Lurian, too, seemed to eschew sleep in favor of sitting in front of the fire. Sometimes Raine would catch him snoring, but mostly he stayed awake, staring into the flames, thinking about Martel knows what. Two days before she planned to go to Asgard, Raine sat in the dim candlelight, squinting at her manuscripts, so engrossed in the text that when she finally jolted back to reality, she realized Lurian had been speaking to her.

"Selina," he said.

Raine looked over and saw that the fire had gone out. She stood to restock it, but Lurian held up his hand. The light of the huge, waxing moon shone through the window and lit up his pale face, deepening the shadows his wrinkles cast over his sagging skin. Raine had never realized how old he really looked until then—his face had always been flushed with firelight, but now, in the harsh light of the moon, she saw how sunken he had become. Crevices creased across his skin like cracks in the ground, and his cloudy eyes reflected little light.

"Wait," he said. "I don't want a fire."

She scooted her chair next to his. "What do you want?"

He looked at her, something of a smile playing at his lips. He reached out a shaking, gnarled hand and lay it on Raine's cheek, where her straight hair fell in front of her delicately pointed ears. Raine spied a hitherto unnoticed sparkle in his eyes, and thought for a moment he was lucid, but the shine of life turned out just to be a thin layer of tears. "Selina. My beautiful daughter."

Raine didn't have the heart to correct him. She only lay her smooth hand over his wrinkled one.

"I'm sorry you had to live in a world like this. I'm so sorry."

Raine nodded slowly, just to let him know that his daughter accepted his apology.

"Hair silver as moonlight… you were always the prettiest, you know. Don't tell your sisters I said that."

Raine smiled. "I won't."

"Good." He lowered his hand. "I love you, Selina."

Raine hesitated for a moment. "I love you too."

"That's all I wanted to hear," he smiled.

Raine stayed at his side until he fell asleep. He began to mumble slightly, as he usually did, so Raine covered him in a wool blanket and left him to nap in his chair. She climbed the stairs to her room and lay down on her bed, staring at the ceiling for a few moments, thinking of Selina. She turned over and wrapped the blankets tighter around herself, and for the first time in months, got a good night's sleep.

*

Lurian did not wake up the next day.

Genis came into her room, sweating, panicking, tears streaming down his face. He shakily said that Lurian was sick, that something was happening to him.

When Raine rushed down the stairs, she found him, open-mouthed, leaning back in his chair. Genis insisted that she heal him, but when she approached him she found that he wasn't breathing. She bent down and lay her hand on his cold wrist.

She tried to tell Genis, but the boy wouldn't listen. He screamed and cried and stomped around. He threw a chair before running out the front door into the wilderness, leaving Raine alone with Lurian's body. She knew it was no use to chase after him. Instead, she turned to the task at hand.

First thing was first. She lifted Lurian from the chair, and found he was surprisingly light. He was fragile, thin, but still soft, so she spread a sheet over the table and lay him on top of it. She had a few choices. She could walk for a day to recruit the help of the nearest farmers, and they could bury him together, but by that time the body would be a few days old. She could hope that Genis was off getting help right now, but she was more realistic than that. She decided to bury Lurian herself.

It was the custom of the Asgard Witches to bury their senior members with precious objects. Unlike other cultures, the burial was not to honor the dead, but to honor the surviving, so the objects were supposed to connect the deceased to the living. It was also because those objects would serve as a permanent bind between the sages who passed away and the acolytes who remained, so that contacting the passed spirit would be easier. Soliciting wisdom from the dead was something the Witches did often, especially if the ghosts happened to be their highest ranking members.

She did not know if Lurian could count among them, but she figured that she knew the Witches' lore well enough to assume they would let her elect an honorary member of their clan. Even if it was a man. He was better than most men. Raine would argue his case. And maybe he'd make his way to their afterlife, where he would again find himself surrounded by too many daughters. She smiled at the thought.

She needed to find something he would want to be buried with. She went back into the house, dug through her treasures, and pulled out the first witch story she had read, a stone tablet etched with the tale of the wolf and the young girl. She found a ceremonial knife hilt he was particularly fond of, for which he and Genis, using flame and hammer, had forged a new blade. She added his diary to the collection, and a few pictures of his daughters—they seemed to be the only things left that connected him to his wife and children.

She carried him outside and spread the sheet over him, where he lay in the cool morning of the early summer. Again, Raine found herself surprised at his lightness. The witches had written that when a soul leaves a body, it takes the weight of the world with it. And Lurian had carried a considerable amount of weight.

She fetched a shovel and chose a soft spot in the garden, near the apple tree. She thrust the shovel into the ground, turning the earth, taking deep breaths. She expected herself to cry, but she didn't. She expected her chest to twist and burn with grief, but it didn't. She was consumed with the practicality, the ritual of burial. Her mind was empty, her eyes dry.

She hadn't dug a foot into the ground when Genis returned.

"You're doing it wrong," he said, trying to control the tremor in his voice.

Raine looked up at him. His eyes were red, his clothes disheveled, and he seemed to be trembling slightly. In his hand shook his omnipresent kendama. "What am I doing wrong?" she asked.

Genis turned to where she had laid Lurian's body. He held up his toy, concentrating on the simplicity of the ball and string, focusing his spirit. The sharpness of magic permeated the air, forcing the hair on Raine's neck to stand on end. She watched Genis mutter something to himself, waving his arm slowly, and the ground under Lurian's body trembled and began to sink. Raine watched the shadows of the soil fall over the shapes under the sheet. She walked up to Genis and stood by his side, as Lurian's body slowly sank into the earth.

"That's enough, Genis," Raine said, breaking his concentration. He had sunk the body deep enough, but had not yet covered it with earth. He looked up at her, confused.

"Remember how the ancient witch queens were buried with their loved ones' possessions?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Find something you want to send away with him."

He sniffed, thought for a moment, and retreated into the house. Raine bent to pick up Lurian's diary, the photographs, the knife, and the story tablet. She dropped three of the four at his feet, and stood holding the knife, thinking.

When Genis returned, he was carrying the old kendama Lurian had given him when he insisted he wanted a Witch artifact. He knelt at the foot of the grave and dropped it inside, with no hesitation, no doubt. Raine watched him curiously.

"Well, what are you going to give him?" he asked her.

She sighed and gathered her hair in her hand. She lay the dull edge of the knife at the back of her neck and sliced. The long strands of silver hair fell limp into her fist, waving like dead grass in the wind. She hacked until all that was left was a short, uneven bunch of locks, swaying lightly. She shook her head out, loose hairs flying, and reveled at how light it felt. She bent down and let the strands of hair fall onto the winding sheet, silver as moonlight.

Genis collapsed the earth on top of Lurian, and Raine watched all his weight, her weight, disappear under the dirt. The wind tickled the back of her neck, where her hair had once hung. She and her brother stood there for a few minutes, staring at the grave in silence. The birds twittered, as usual, and the trees swayed in the wind. They listened to the sounds of the mountains for a little while, eyes never leaving the grave.

Eventually Raine lay a hand on her brother's shoulder and guided him back inside the house.


	17. The Future

Raine and Genis took very little from Lurian's house when they left. Genis took the food they'd need for a long trip, two bedrolls, a tent. He took his kendama and a couple books that would fit in his pack. History, geography, Elven languages, and algebra. The rest had to stay because they had no room.

Raine took her staff of paralyzed oak, a few other artifacts that she could carry, manuscripts and papers, toiletries, clothes, Lurian's stash of emergency money, and a small picture of the old man when he was young, with his favorite daughter on his lap. She had burnt the letters she had written. All of them except one.

"Are you ready?" she asked Genis, who was standing in the kitchen, staring at nothing.

"Yeah."

She could tell he wasn't ready. He kept turning around as they made their way down the mountain path, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the cabin was still there. Raine had to hold his shoulders, keeping him looking forward, or else she suspected he might try to run back to the little house, sit in his room and pretend nothing happened, pretend it was as it had always been. Peaceful, boring, a little lonely, but safe. Walking out into the world, that wasn't safe, especially for a half-elf boy as young and impressionable as he was.

Leaving some things behind is easy, like a burning city and a life of slavery in a brothel. Some things are hard to leave behind, but time commands it. Time reigns supreme. _We all get older. Things change_ , Raine thought. _That is the hardest lesson Genis will ever learn._

When they stopped for the night by the side of the road, Raine set up the tent while Genis started a fire. "Are you all right?" she asked him.

He said nothing. He just stared into the flames until Raine sat down next to him. She took his hand, and he didn't pull away. He looked up at her, holding back his tears.

"It's all right to cry, you know," she told him.

"Why don't you ever cry, then?" he asked.

"That's a good question." She looked away. "I'm not sure of the answer. I try, you know. I used to cry a lot. But I can't now."

A short silence followed. "What do we do now?" Genis asked.

"That's also a good question. I'm not sure. We'll decide when we get to Asgard."

Genis stared at the fire for a while. "Will I get to go to school?"

"Yes."

"Will you be my teacher?"

"I don't know. Hopefully not."

"Why not? You'd be good at it."

"That's what I keep hearing. I'd like to do some research, personally. Maybe I can go back to school myself. Maybe I can go to—" she almost shuddered when she said it: "university."

"How many other kids will be there? At my school?" Genis asked.

"I don't know."

"Will there be boys and girls?"

"Most likely. Unless you'd prefer to go to a boys' school."

Genis shook his head. "I want to go to school with both. Will there be half-elves there?"

Raine sighed. "No, Genis. There won't. And you won't be able to go to school if anyone finds out you're one. Or that I'm one. Understand?"

Genis nodded solemnly.

"From now on, we are elves, and only elves. Humans don't really notice the difference, so you'll probably be able to fool them into thinking we're full-blooded. But stay away from other half-elves, especially Desians. They'll be able to tell."

"How can they tell?"

Raine drew him into her arms and squeezed him. "Because half-elves stink, especially the little boys. They can smell our stench from a mile away." Genis chuckled listlessly and let his sister hug him tight. Then he fell silent, stared into the fire, and sighed. His eyes dulled, his smile faded.

Raine was suddenly afraid to let him go.

*

When they got to Asgard, they dropped their things off at their usual inn. Genis was allowed to go explore if he promised to stay away from any Desians that might be hanging around. He seemed sincere in his promise, since now he knew he couldn't go to school if anyone found out he was a half-elf. Raine left him at the inn and made her way toward the museum's offices, straightening her coat, putting on her most professional face. Either here in Asgard, or elsewhere, the future was ahead of her.

She entered the offices and asked for the head curator. She was led by a friendly woman into the back room, decorated with ancient artifacts and paintings. The office was built into the side of the mountain, so torches were the only source of light in the earthy room.

The woman left Raine with what she assumed was the head curator, and she sat down in front of his desk. He didn't look at her, seemingly too enthralled with what he was doing to notice her enter. She cleared her throat and he lifted his head. When their eyes met, they both drew back in surprise.

"Enos," Raine forced a smile. "It's been a long time."

Enos, now tall, growing a hearty mustache, grinned back. "And you, Raine! Look at you!"

He stood, and Raine sank into her chair, a little uncomfortable.

"Well, come on! We have a lot to talk about, and this dreary little office isn't going to suffice. What time is it?"

"Um. Three?" Raine estimated.

"Perfect time for lunch. There's a little cafe by the museum. I'm starved."

Raine, swept away by his enthusiasm, had no choice but to follow him out of the office and down the street, where he sat her down at a wooden table under a tree. The cafe was walled in, sheltered from the wind, but the fresh breeze still found a way in. It tickled Raine's face and rustled the leaves above her.

"I like your haircut," Enos started. "Very professional. Grown-up."

Raine gave him a weak smile. "Well, you seem to be the only one with an actual profession here."

"Head curator? Don't make me laugh. That's where the college sticks you if you're too much trouble for them to have in an actual research department."

"Too much trouble?"

"Ah, it's just a personal disagreement with the dean, that's all. The whole system is so riddled with internal politics I wish I could just go into the mountains and do field work alone, like you. So, how is Lurian doing?"

"Well…" Raine stopped when someone brought them menus, then continued when he left. "He's dead, actually."

Enos frowned. "Gods. I'm so sorry."

"You see, that's what I'm here about. The ruins, his house, his collection of artifacts, his library… all of those have no owner now. His daughters won't want it. They all have their own lives halfway across the world."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that his property is a valuable asset to architectural research. Half the objects in his home belong in a museum. He has several ancient temples within walking distance of his cabin. It would probably be best if an academic institution took over his land. Set up a research outpost in his house, excavate the ruins, use his notes as a starting point for exploring the lives of the Asgard Witches."

Enos raised his eyebrows in interest. "Having the school take charge of his property? I have this feeling he wouldn't want that."

"Yes, well, what Lurian wants and what Lurian needs are my area of expertise," Raine sighed. "He may have been a bitter old man, but his first love was his work. I believe he would've needed me to share that work with the world."

Enos shrugged. "Well, I guess if he's not around to be angry with you about it, why not?"

"There are more hidden tunnels and buildings than I can count in those mountains," Raine continued. "It would be ideal if we could get a whole research team out there. The only problem is that I'm uncertain who has the legal rights to the land, or if the college has the power to seize it as public or academic property."

Enos bit his lip. "It sounds like something we can manage, if we can convince the board, the mayor, and Lurian's daughters that we need the land. We might have to pay for it, though. I'll talk it over with my superiors. Gods above, it would be wonderful if we had access to his property. We could learn so much."

Raine smiled at his enthusiasm. "Glad to hear you're interested."

"What about you, though?" he asked. He stopped the waiter to order a couple beers and a basket of bread. The man nodded and disappeared into the cafe's depths, and Enos returned his attention to Raine. "What are you doing now?"

"Well… that's also what I was here to talk about. I was wondering, since my little brother has to go to school, if there are any research positions available here in Asgard."

Enos went white, and she could tell his answer was not going to be positive.

"Well…" he looked around, seemingly for an escape. "I don't think… that's going to work."

Raine narrowed her eyes at him, and he began to sweat.

"Look, I'm sorry, I really am. It's not my idea. If I were running things I would definitely let half-elves have positions in public employment. But I'm not. I'm sorry."

"How…" Raine stopped for a moment, wondering if, in their former intimacy, she had ever actually told Enos of her race. "How do you know I'm a half-elf?"

"Please, Raine. Everyone here knows about Lurian and his mixed-blood daughter."

_But that's not me,_ Raine thought. _That's not me._ It didn't matter. They were guilty of the same crime.

"Nothing like that ever escapes the eyes of the administrators," Enos continued. "Why do you think Lurian refused so adamantly to have anything to do with us? Why do you think he shunned the faculty so earnestly?"

Raine gulped, her heart sinking.

"This is the way it is, unfortunately. If I could change it, I would. But I'm just a museum curator with a bachelor's degree. I have no power here. You inherit prestige, you inherit scandal—that's just how academia works nowadays."

When he reached out for her hand to comfort her, she pulled away. At the look on her face, Enos sighed. "I'm sorry, Raine. I really am. Look… I have a few friends here and there. One of them is in Luin. She's been kicked out of the college, but she can probably set you up with a teaching job. I'll give you her name and address, if you want to go see her."

"Why did she get kicked out?" Raine asked.

"She faked her teaching credentials. It's a tragedy, too, because she was a very, very good instructor. She was mine, and she was the best I ever had. Besides you, of course." Enos flashed her a smile. He might've intended for it to cheer her, but she really did not want to look at a grin right now. Especially not on the face of a smug human.

"I'll take her name and address, please."

"Gods, Raine, we just sat down. The beer hasn't even come yet."

The look she gave him forced him to take out his pen and write hastily on the disposable serviette. He handed it over to her, and she clutched it to her chest. She stood, giving him a nod before she turned.

"Hey, Raine. Wait."

"Thank you, Enos. But I can't stay here." Before he could stop her, she fled the cafe and nearly jogged down the street. She held the napkin tightly, stumbling down the street until she was sure she was far enough away. She glanced over her shoulder and let loose a sigh of relief when she saw he wasn't chasing after her. She found a bench by a long marble staircase and sat on it, looking at the napkin.

_So,_ she thought. _Here I am again. Orphaned and aimless, held back by my blood. Perhaps this is something I should get used to. It seems to happen every few years._

She sat on the bench for a while, thinking, until she realized she had one more thing to do. She made her way to the flimsy shack of a post office, keeping an eye out for Enos. There was no sign of him, so she stood outside, staring at the black, square mouth of the postbox. She reached into her pocket and removed the letter, and the picture of Lurian and Selina. On the back of the picture, she wrote: _Your father is dead._

She broke the sealing wax and slipped the picture next to the letter. Inside the office, she borrowed an adhesive to reseal the envelope, and dropped it into the postbox. With that, she considered her duties to Lurian fulfilled.

It wasn't until she was back at the inn that the gravity of the events of these past few days actually hit her. She sat on the bed and stared out the window, mind empty, napkin clutched in her hand. When Genis came back, mercifully without Desian company, he sat down on the bed opposite her and told her he was hungry. She snapped out of her strange meditation, and realized that nearly two hours had passed. She hadn't noticed.

"You're hungry?"

"Yeah. You aren't?"

Raine thought of the cafe, the bread, Enos. "No. Here's some money. I'm going to go to bed."

"The sun's not even down yet."

"Go buy yourself something delicious." She handed him a few coins. "We'll be on the road for a while. We're going to Luin."

"Will I be able to go to school there?" Genis asked, smiling.

"Maybe. We'll find out when we get there. But in the meantime, be good." Raine closed the curtains and lay down on her bed. "I'll see you in the morning, Genis."

*

_Perhaps, if I travel widely enough, I can find the place where my mother deserted me._

Raine found her thoughts of the future tainted with demons of her past. It wasn't something she could help. Lurian's words echoed in her head, but she didn't know if she agreed with them: you don't have to forget to move forward.

_You don't know the things I remember,_ Raine thought to him. _If you did, you'd forget too._

She wondered if her thoughts would reach Lurian, wherever he was. Most likely nowhere. She wasn't one to naturally believe in the afterlife, but for his sake, she might be able to ease herself into the idea.

During the trip up to Luin, she thought a lot about Lurian and where he might've gone off to. She and her brother walked on in silence, each consumed by his or her own thoughts. Raine wondered about her mother, the glowing pillars buried deep in her memory. She couldn't even guess as to what Genis was thinking about. Maybe school, maybe death, maybe nothing at all.

It was a relief when they arrived in Luin. The bustle of the town was loud enough to banish the introspection that the silence of wilderness engendered. Both Genis and Raine were able to replace their own thoughts with the sights and sounds of the city.

When they arrived at an inn, a squat old building surrounded by a picket fence, Genis tapped Raine on the shoulder and pointed behind her. She turned to see a green schoolhouse, fenced and surrounded by shrubs. A few listless children loitered outside its doors, perhaps waiting for class to begin, or perhaps momentarily banned from the classroom for disobedience. Raine smiled when she saw one girl staring into the window earnestly, trying to see what was going on inside.

"Will I get to go to that one?" Genis asked.

"Maybe. Come on inside." She led her little brother into the inn. It turned out that they had more than one room available, so the man behind the desk gave them a choice. Genis blurted that he'd like a room that had a window looking out to the school. The man smiled at him and handed over a key.

Once settled in their room, Raine took out the napkin that Enos had given her and looked over the address one more time. "Genis," she said, and he turned away from the window. "I'm going to go meet someone right now. She will…" Raine had to think up an excuse when Genis eyed her with curiosity. "She's the principal of the school. She will tell me if you're able to attend." Genis grinned at her. "So stay here, and be good. Please. Don't get in trouble and don't talk to any half-elves."

Genis nodded. Since they had left the little cabin, he had calmed down, maybe due to his grief, maybe due to the fact that he was finally released from his isolation. Seeing the world seemed to steer him away from his usual misbehavior. So when Genis promised to be good, Raine decided to trust him. She left the inn in spirits that were not exactly high, but were certainly not as dismal as they could be. She made her way down the peaceful streets of Luin, asking for directions from a friendly lady before she found herself at the doorstep of a small house, shadowed by trees. She walked up to the door and knocked.

A disheveled, scruffy-looking woman opened it. She looked Raine over, narrowed her eyes, and asked what she wanted.

"Enos Lozano gave me your address," Raine said. "He says you specialize in… composing documents." She chose her words carefully.

The woman's suspicious gaze made way for a broad smile. "Enos. How _is_ the bastard doing?" She invited Raine inside the house, and she found it just as disarranged as its owner.

"He's fine."

"Well, good. But you're not, I suppose. Come to the back room, and we can get started." She led Raine down a dark hallway to what may have once been a bedroom, but now served as a messy office. The woman sat down behind a pine desk and motioned for Raine to sit across from her.

"So, you need… what? Medical license? A degree?"

"Teaching credentials."

"Oh, that one hits home. Enos told you I faked mine and got caught, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll have you know I've gotten a lot better at forgery since then. I charge six thousand gil per paper. For something like teaching credentials, you're only gonna need one. Unless you want to teach secondary or tertiary. Then you'll need a little more."

Raine sighed. "I would personally prefer tertiary. But I fully acknowledge that I will probably end up teaching primary."

"It's easier that way, if you're riding on faked documents." The woman dug through a drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper. It was thick, slightly gold, glimmering. It looked official. "Primary school teachers aren't monitored like professors and instructors at college. That's what I'd go for if I were you. You'll last longer that way, you know, before someone turns you in."

"I suppose I'll just take one, then. I don't have enough money for more."

"Sounds good." The woman took a moment to look Raine over, as if trying to figure out why someone so respectable-looking would need to fake her credentials. With a slight smile, the woman recognized the reason. "So, you're a half-elf, huh? There are plenty of you who need papers made." She pulled out a few stamps from her drawer, a quill and ink, rulers, compasses, an array of small tools. "You'd be surprised at how many half-elves want to get legitimized. Go straight. Live in the real world. Even some who quit the ranches. They want to live peacefully, but they have a hard time doing it, especially those who aspire to be productive members of society. Like you. You need the right documents for that." She pulled out a large stack of papers and started sorting through them.

Raine sized up the woman, checking her face for the tell-tale signs of mixed blood, but she saw none. "So why did _you_ have to forge your certification?"

The woman glanced up from her work. "I'm not a half-elf, if that's what you're asking. Do you prefer one college over any others for your degree?" Raine shook her head. "Okay. Well, no, I'm not half. I'm just a convicted felon."

Raine raised an eyebrow. This woman, although perhaps a little bedraggled, did not seem like a violent criminal. A petty one, yes, liable to misdemeanors—but regardless of the strict illegality of her work, she was helping people get a fresh start. She seemed just as moral as your average law-abiding citizen. But Raine was interested to know her story.

The lady could sense Raine's curiosity, and indulged her. "A long time ago, right after I graduated, I found myself siding with the wrong people in a riot. It was some protest to a law that had to do with banning half-elves from something—I honestly don't remember. It was a long time ago. Me and a group of them ended up inadvertently burning down the governor's mansion. No one was hurt, but I was slapped with an arson charge. The half-elves involved, well, two of them were hanged, the other three escaped and joined a ranch somewhere." She paused, perhaps overcome with her recollection. "That night was pretty crazy, and I wasn't even drunk." She seemed to be looking in the space behind Raine's shoulder, as if the events of that night were gathered there for her viewing pleasure.

"So, what did you teach at the college in Asgard?" Raine asked.

"Law."

Raine laughed.

"Right?" The woman smiled, appreciating Raine's amusement. "But who better to teach a class on law than one who has been subjected to its iron fist? Gods, I was a great teacher. I knew everything there was to know about it. I knew every aspect of criminal court: every loophole, every rule, every little typo and technicality and caveat. I could teach a whole class on counterfeiting. In fact, I _did_. That was one of the nails in my coffin." She sighed. "You know schools, though. No half-elves, no felons, no war criminals allowed. Ridiculous standards." She shuffled through her papers. "So, I can get you a degree from a community school in Asgard. Maybe a letter of recommendation. Is there any specialty you'd like?"

"Archeology," Raine answered. She knew so much about it she could definitely pass for a woman with a degree in the subject.

"All right. We're set. Come back tomorrow. You can pay three thousand now and three thousand when you pick it up." After Raine forked over about half her money, the woman stood and led her to the door. "What's the name I should put on your documents?"

"Raine Sage."

The woman held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Raine Sage. A word of advice: go far, far away from here. It's never a good idea to teach around where you got your documents forged. And stay the hell away from half-elves—they'll be able to recognize your race and rat you out in a split-second. My advice is to go west, far west. If you keep going on the road, you'll get to Hima. There are no teaching openings there, but keep going west and you'll cross over to the adjacent continent. That's nothing but farm country. There's bound to be a little village or two that's lacking in a schoolmistress. Those are the people who ask no questions. They probably don't care if you're not really a teacher, as long as you babysit their kids while they're out in the fields."

Raine nodded. She knew her only hope was in a rural village. Fewer Desians, fewer questions.

"All right then. You seem like a smart lady—you can take care of yourself, I'm sure. I won't keep you any longer."

She closed the door hastily, and Raine stepped off her porch. Her heart was racing, her mind trying to churn through and make sense of what she had just done. If anyone found out... well, she couldn't think about that right now. She had a little brother to support.

When she came back to the inn, she found the little brother in question in the front yard, clipping shrubbery. "What are you doing?" she asked him.

What apparently was the inn's gardener, an old man sporting a sunhat, stood to speak with her. "He belongs to you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"He's just helping me out with some chores. Doing a spectacular job, too. It's true what they say about elves and green thumbs." He winked at Genis, who kept on cutting, eyes never leaving the schoolhouse. Raine shrugged. If he wanted to do chores so he could stand outside and watch the students come and go, that was his choice.

She went up to her room and sat on the bed for a while before moving to the window to look down on the inn's front courtyard, where her brother knelt in the dirt, turning the soil in his hands. Every once in a while, he would glance up at the schoolhouse across the street. She followed his gaze and settled on the little green building, right when class got out.

A couple dozen children burst from its doors, laughing, pushing. Raine watched them cross the little schoolyard, jockeying for a position at the front, eager to get home or wander the streets to play. A few students lagged behind, waiting for a parent to come fetch them. They sat near the picket fence and diverted themselves. One boy, with messy brown hair and thick glasses, had his nose buried deep in a large book. Raine smiled at the sight of him.

"Whatcha looking' at, sis?"

She was so preoccupied with peering in on the children's scholastic lives she hadn't noticed her brother enter. He must've completed his chores to the gardener's satisfaction and come upstairs to get a different view of the school.

"Are you going to teach there?" he asked her.

"No. I'm not."

Genis' shoulders slumped. He frowned and walked up to the window, looking down on the scene below. "But you're still going to teach, aren't you?"

Raine sighed. No matter how she tried, she seemed to be tumbling down the path of the educator. Just like Lurian would've wanted. He always was insisting that passing on knowledge was the most important thing.

"Yes, Genis. I'm still going to teach. But not here. I need to find someplace that has a job for me. They already have all the teachers they need here in Luin."

She and Genis stared down at the children, drinking in the sight of a life they never had. Raine wished she had been able to attend a regular school like a regular child, but she acknowledged that she probably wouldn't have fit in anyway. If the world were fair, she would've skipped primary school altogether, and graduated with a degree by now. But the world wasn't fair. She knew that well.

After about half an hour, all the children had either been retrieved by their parents or run off on their own—all except one. The mousy boy still leaned on the fence, engrossed. He did not seem to mind that his parent was late—he was in no hurry to stop reading. There was something about his round face, his lanky limbs, that Raine found immediately endearing.

She found out why she was attracted to the child in the next few seconds. She gasped, pressing herself up as close as she could to the window, heart pounding, staring down at the green schoolyard.

Etta had entered the scene, floating like an apparition. She wore a long dress of faded yellow, a woven hat, and a broad smile. She looked older, but not by much. She stood tall, straight, proud—she seemed bigger, as if she had purpose. She no longer slouched, no longer had a posture that apologized for the space it occupied. She had taken on a few years, but had shed that burden of age that the Sea Witch necessarily placed on all of its employees. The spring in her step said as much.

She carried a basket of vegetables in one arm, in the other a toddler with golden curls. She set the basket on the ground to reach out to her son, who dropped his book in his bag and ran to her. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and embraced him for a moment, before he picked up the basket of groceries and took his mother's hand in his own. Together, they began to walk toward home.

Raine could have done it. She could've dropped everything, rushed down the stairs, jumped through the front door, across the yard, and caught them before they turned the corner and disappeared. A desperate longing burned inside her, but an equally powerful fear froze her muscles. She did not want to know if Etta hated her for abandoning her all those years ago. If Etta resented Raine for her actions as much as Raine herself did, then she would rather not know.

She would rather not stir that pot of recollections. She would rather stand here and stare, pressed up against the window, at Etta's happy ending. She did not want to ruin that ending by showing up, bearing the baggage of the memories of the Sea Witch. She did not want to enter Etta's life and saturate it with the stink of betrayal and whoredom. She had a family now, a real family, and a certain future. She looked happy.

Raine would only stain that happiness with her presence. Instead, she only stared after the three of them—Etta, with her elegant, contented bearing, Candle with his book, and the little girl in her mother's arms, bouncing and smiling. She could only hope that Etta remembered that little elf girl from so long ago, and remembered her at least with some fondness. Other than that, Raine wished only to remain a ghost in the back of Etta's mind. Perhaps she had forgotten about her already. That was probably for the best.

"Raine, what are you staring at?"

Raine, in a dream-like state of both unspeakable sorrow and unsurpassed joy, barely heard the words come out of her mouth. "The past is past, Genis. Memories—that's all they are. And memories cannot hurt you."

"What, sis?"

Realizing she'd been muttering, she glanced down to see Genis' curious, intelligent face. He hadn't seemed to recognize Candle or Etta. Maybe they were stashed away in his mind, in the same place where gods and ghosts and dreams are stored. Maybe the two of them were sitting on a shelf in the back of his brain, and he would rediscover them when the time was right.

"You look sad," he said, taking her hand. "What's wrong?"

She smiled at him. "Nothing. Nothing at all."


	18. The End of the Beginning

"Here we are, Genis. The edge of the map."

He looked up at her before glancing to the gates of the small town, moss-covered and rotting. She could tell he was a little nervous, and if she was going to be honest with herself, she was a little nervous too.

She had heard from neighboring villages and farmsteads that Iselia was in desperate need of a new teacher. She had jumped on the opportunity—she didn't know when the next teacher-less town would come by. But what made Iselia most attractive to her was its non-aggression treaty with the neighboring Desians. The ranch was only a few miles away, but it was illegal for half-elves to enter the town. The chances of actually meeting any Desians were slim to none, and that was the heaviest factor in her decision. She couldn't care less if the rumors were true that the Chosen lived there.

The town itself looked benign enough. The houses were small but well-kept, the dirt streets free of garbage and beggars and the usual grievances of a city. The whole town smelled fresh, and Raine took it as an auspicious sign. It was the scent of a new start.

She had all her papers in order. She had graduated with honors from a fairly respectable college in Asgard, had teaching experience in the city, was a polyglot globetrotter, and full-blooded elf to boot. Or so said the expertly forged documents she had sitting in her bag. She was going to meet the mayor in front of the schoolhouse to interview for the job of schoolmistress.

One of the families they had boarded with on their way westward had a flock of carrier pigeons. They had allowed her to send a letter ahead to Iselia, for a few extra gald. They were a somewhat stingy family of farmers, but polite nonetheless. Raine and Genis had paid them to occupy their guest room for a night.

It seemed the carrier pigeon did its duty, since apparently their arrival had been anticipated. Iselia did not get many visitors, much less a highly educated elf, so the whole town seemed abuzz. Raine and Genis noticed people emerge from their houses to watch them walk by, and a few even called out a friendly greeting. Raine gulped. She had not been in the spotlight since her modeling stint at the Sea Witch, and the attention made her uncomfortable. Genis didn't seem to notice.

When they arrived at the schoolhouse, the children were already out in the yard, fooling around. The mayor, a frowning, stout man, stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. As they approached, he wiggled his mustache at them. "You're late," he said irritably.

Well, this was off to a spectacular start. Raine bowed. "Forgive me. I'm Raine Sage, and this is my little brother Genis."

"I know. I got your letter. So, shall we talk business?"

"Genis, go play," she told him, and he reluctantly, shyly approached the other children. A preteen boy with a messy shock of brown hair came up to greet him, and he practically cowered. The boy seemed friendly, and gave Genis an impressive grin. He was missing a tooth.

Her little brother looked back at her in fear, and she realized that Genis was socializing with children around his own age for the first time in his life. She made a flapping motion with her hand: _talk to him._

"That little boy you're staring at—he's the reason the last schoolmaster left. Couldn't handle him. He's from hell, that one, I swear to all the gods."

Raine watched the boy as he talked to Genis, gesticulating passionately, grinning. He seemed friendly enough, and Raine could see no malice, no bitterness, in his teasing. She saw him pointing to Genis' kendama, and when her brother handed it over, he immediately began to try it out, failing miserably and laughing heartily anyway.

"This is hard," she heard him say, handing the toy back to Genis. "You do it. Show me a trick." Genis looked over his shoulder at Raine, as if asking her for permission. She smiled and nodded. Genis flicked the ball into the air and pinned it, and the boy cried out in delight. "Awesome! You're so good! Colette, come see what he can do."

Raine warmed at Genis' excited smile. The mayor brought her back to the task at hand.

"Miss Sage. I need to see your credentials."

"Oh. Of course." She dug through her pack and handed the papers over.

"Very good," he muttered, looking them over. "You must understand we have to be picky about who we hire. We can't have just _anyone_ be the Chosen's instructor."

Oh, right. The Chosen. Raine examined the playing children, wondering which one of them it could be.

"Well, you certainly look good enough on paper," the mayor grumbled. "But are you tough enough? We'll see. We'll see if you can survive that Irving boy. Very few teachers do." Before Raine could even ask if she'd gotten the job, he shoved her documents back at her. "If you can endure the first week, you're hired. I'll send the current lesson plan home with you. Since it's just the beginning of the year you have some leeway. Good luck."

Seemingly almost begrudgingly, the Mayor gave her the job. He stuffed a stack of papers in her arms and sent her home. She was apparently supposed to occupy the old schoolmaster's abandoned house—evidently "that Irving boy" not only forced him to quit his job, he forced him to quit town. Raine wondered if she was up for the challenge.

When she and Genis arrived at their house, she found it in a state of disrepair. Dust covered everything, there seemed to be only half of a bed, the kitchen was empty, the shelves were falling apart. Raine sighed, not looking forward to the impending housework, but Genis snapped into domestic mode, humming as he cleaned. He sang a little song as he used air spells to gather the dust and throw it out the window. She spied him smiling as he set up the bedrolls. When he set a flame on the stove and began to cook their dinner, she asked him, "Are you happy with your new school?"

He nodded. "It's weird, though. Talking to other kids."

"You'll get used to it. Children are… strange. I'm sure you'll discover this. But if they're ever mean to you, let me know and I'll fail them." Raine wasn't sure if she was kidding about that last part. She imagined since he was different from the other human children, Genis was liable to be bullied.

"It's okay. Lloyd said he wouldn't let anyone pick on me, and he's the strongest kid in the school."

"Lloyd?"

"Yeah, the kid who tried out my kendama. He's really nice."

So. The Irving boy. Good to know the hellion was on their side. "You keep an eye on that kid, Genis. Make sure he does his homework."

"All right."

Raine turned back to the proposed lesson plan while Genis continued humming at the stove. She glanced over the subjects, disappointed. She had been able to cover this material in half a day when she was twelve or so, and these kids were supposed to spend a whole week on it. Were children really this dumb, or was it a country bumpkin thing? She made a few changes here and there, adding important information and subtracting the redundant, until she had a lesson outline that didn't make her cringe with pity. Perhaps these children really were stupid. Perhaps the lesson plan was stupid.

She really didn't know. She had never instructed a child that wasn't a genius. And she would have to hide her ignorance of the art of teaching if she wanted to stay here, to settle, to make a home. She would have to work hard if Genis was going to have the childhood that she had been denied. Here, they could start again, as elves, as people.

Raine recalled that her race had not been a subject that was brought up when the mayor was talking to her. She breathed a sigh of relief, and for the first time, she felt she might be able to escape the shackles of her mixed blood. She could finally outrun the pain and fear her memories brought her, and look to the future.

"Genis."

"What?" He did not take his eyes off the stove. A delightful smell wafted from the pot and Raine's stomach growled.

"Remember that we are elves now. If you let anyone find out about our race, then we have to leave. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. I don't want to leave."

"Me neither. I think we might just be able to have a normal life here. As soon as we get this house livable again."

The next day, Raine and Genis arrived at the schoolhouse early. A few other students waited outside, and when Raine unlocked the doors, they filed into the building, chatting. Raine stood behind her desk, examining the tiny room in which all the town's children were supposed to fit. It was cozy, a little cramped, even when it was half-empty.

Still, the schoolhouse inspired in her a warm, weird sensation. She had wanted nothing more than to enter a classroom when she was a child, but fate had conspired to deny her that privilege. She had never expected, not in a thousand years, that when she would finally reenter a school, it would be as the instructor.

Genis, eager to officially start his schooling, sat in the front row, smiling up at Raine. She smiled back, shuffling her stack of papers, a little nervous. More students came in as the minutes wore on, and when she was sure that everyone was there, she opened her mouth to introduce herself.

Right when she was about to begin, that Irving boy came tumbling in from outside, panting. The classroom, evidently used to his tardiness, did not notice him enter. Only Genis, curious at his arrival, turned around, along with one other student, a sweet-looking girl with shaggy yellow hair.

"Sorry," the boy coughed. "Ran into bears on the way."

Raine narrowed her eyes at him. "Bears?"

"No. Boars. Ran into _boars_. Had to fight my way through 'em."

A few students laughed.

"Are you quite finished?" Raine asked him, and he nodded. He seated himself on the far windowsill because all of the other seats were taken, and immediately began to stare though the glass. He dropped into his daydream like a lead balloon.

_I have my work cut out for me, I see,_ Raine thought, not without some amusement.

"Good morning, children," Raine said. "I, obviously, am your new instructor."

It felt strange to say the words. But it also felt good, like she was moving forward with her life, moving on. Like Enos had moved on, like Selina had, like Etta and Candle and even Lurian. The last three, at least, were in better places than they had been, and perhaps Raine would find a better place as well.

"You may address me as Miss Sage, if you wish. You may also call me Raine, if that's more your style. I don't care either way. Irving! Get your feet off the windowsill."

The boy dropped his feet. "Sure thing, Professor."

"I'm not a professor," she answered, but he seemed to not hear her. He was already staring out the window again. She sighed and continued. "I will not tolerate tomfoolery, bullying, rudeness, or anything of the sort. The mayor has given me permission to paddle any one of you at any time." The last part wasn't true, but she decided that scaring them a little would be good for them.

With a strange, warm feeling, she realized she may just come to enjoy this job.

"I was given a lesson plan yesterday which was frankly insulting to your intelligence. I've taken the liberty of altering it as I saw fit, and I think that if not now, at least in a few years, you'll be thanking me for it. Any questions?"

The students, perhaps a little overwhelmed by her disciplinary tone, remained silent. Even the Irving boy glanced away from his window to investigate why such an intense silence had suddenly flooded the room. Genis, meanwhile, was grinning broadly.

"Today we begin with geometry. We have a few proofs to work through, and more than a few theorems. It's going to be a long morning." She smiled. "So, without further ado…"

She turned to the blackboard, chalk in hand, heart beating with excitement, and began to teach.


End file.
